“I’m a wretched match for you, Sophy,” he declared; “I don’t believe your mother will allow it. I’ve no prospects.” “Never mind prospects,” was her reckless reply. “We shall have enough to live on. I have a hundred a year of my own, and I’m quite a good manager, with a real taste for millinery. If the worst comes to the worst, I shall open a shop in Phayre Street and make our fortune!” It was mail day and Shafto, who now dined at the “Barn,” was unusually late in appearing. He looked rather excited and out of himself as he entered with many apologies. After dinner he and Sophy paced the drive in the silver moonlight, and she began: “I could hardly sit still, or eat a morsel, for anyone could see that you were bursting with some great news. What is it?” “I have two pieces of news, and I’ll give you first of all one that concerns ourselves. I saw in the _Mail_ some weeks ago that my uncle, Julian Shafto, was dead. He had no family and left no will; and I found a letter to-day at the office from a lawyer, informing me that I, being next of kin, am heir-at-law, and succeed to the property and a fairly large income.” “Oh, Douglas, how splendid! It sounds too good to be true!” “I never saw my uncle; he and my father had a disagreement before I was born, and had no communication with one another. He did not even send us a line when my father died. I fancy he was a hard-bitten old bachelor. I’ve not seen the family place, Shafton Court, and don’t know much about it, except I remember my father saying there were one or two fine pictures, a fair library, and, what did not interest him, first-rate partridge shooting.” “Oh, what a piece of good fortune! Do let us go in at once and tell Polly.” “But would you not like to hear my other piece of news, which is even better?” “It could not be better; but do tell me quickly.” “FitzGerald has brought off a splendid _coup_ up the river—run in the cocaine gang and collared no end of drugs. He is to receive the thanks of the L.G. and the Government reward.” “How did he discover it?” “A man I know really put him on the track. The cocaine lair was in a village, so deserted and tumble-down and haunted, that no one suspected it, or went near it. A _pongye_ Kyoung, said to be infested by malignant _nats_ and hundreds of snakes, was the head office. Rather a clever dodge.” “Do you think this will put an end to the traffic?” “No; but it will give it a tremendous set-back; where there is a demand, there will always be a supply, but for a considerable time—at least a year or two—cocaine will be scarce. They caught a good many of the small fry, but as usual the big fish escaped—all but one wealthy Mahommedan, but he is bound to wriggle out somehow. Another point in favour of the short supply of cocaine is the disappearance of Krauss.” “What!” exclaimed Sophy. “Oh, Douglas, surely you don’t mean that _he_ was in it?” “In it—I should think so. Up to his neck!” “Oh, but are you certain?”