"I do. The daughter of Captain Michael Dicksfall of Folkestone--he had two daughters, twins, one, Miss Helena Dicksfall, ran away with Lord Calliston three years ago and became his mistress under the name of Lena Sarschine, the other, Miss Amelia Dicksfall, married Sir Rupert Balscombe." The baronet sank into his seat looking pale and haggard. "My God," he muttered, "this is worse and worse. I knew Amelia had a twin sister, but understood she was dead." "Dead as Helena Dicksfall, not as Lena Sarschine." "Could Lady Balscombe have had any interest in her sister's death?" asked Norwood, in a puzzled tone. "For heaven's sake don't make her out to be a murderess," said Sir Rupert vehemently, "she's bad enough as it is, but surely she would not go so far as--as---murder." "I don't know," said Dowker brutally, "they both loved the same man, and when women are jealous, well there's the devil to pay." At this moment a servant entered with a telegram which he handed to Sir Rupert. Tearing it open the baronet glanced hastily over it and then sprung to his feet. "Now we will know the truth," he said triumphantly. "What do you mean?" asked May, trembling in every limb. "Simply this," said her guardian, crushing up the telegram in his hand, "the _Seamew_ is on her way to England." CHAPTER XV. A STARTLING DISCOVERY. Perhaps among all his friends Myles had no warmer supporter than Spencer Ellersby. The young man appeared to be genuinely sorry that his evidence about meeting Desmond in St. James' Street should be used against him. "Hang it!" he said to Marton, as they were seated at their club, "if I had only known how it would have been twisted, I'd not have said a word, but that detective fellow got it out of me somehow--brute of a fellow--killed my dog, you know, Pickles." "Well, I hear they'll not be able to prove the dagger in Desmond's possession was the one used," said Marton, "good for poor old Myles--hey!" "I think it's d--d rubbish, the whole thing," retorted Ellersby, hotly; "what the deuce should Myles kill this woman for, she was nothing to him; more likely Calliston knows more about it." "Well, he'll soon be asked at all events," said Marton, with a chuckle. "The _Seamew's_ back at Brighton." "What!" cried Ellersby astonished. "And Lady Balscombe?" "Oh, she's on board also," said Marton. "Sir Rupert has gone down, I hear, to see his wife--what a deuce of a row there'll be, hey!" and the old reprobate rubbed his hands. "Well, there is one thing to be said," observed Ellersby ringing for a brandy and soda, "Calliston can't marry Miss Penfold now." "All the better for Desmond, dear boy, hey?" "I don't see that," retorted Ellersby coolly, "even if Desmond's acquitted, he'll have a stain on his name--she won't marry him." "Hey!" said The Town-crier, all on the alert for news. "What do you mean?" "Simply this, that I'm going to have a look in at the heiress myself." "Bosh!"