"Why not?" inquired the doctor, with a keen glance. "Jadby has the money by Shepworth's showing; he isn't bad-looking, and he loves her devotedly. Also, it was Sir Oliver's wish." "Jadby's a cattish ruffian," cried Prelice warmly, and with a sudden access of colour; "we don't know where he comes from or----" "From the South Seas, my old son." "Or who he is," continued Prelice impetuously. "It would be a shame that so delightful a girl should marry a shady buccaneer. Ned, you are engaged to Miss Chent--why don't you speak?" "There is nothing to say," replied the barrister somewhat coldly. "If Miss Chent will take me, a pauper as I am, I shall only be too charmed to make her my wife." Prelice raised his eyebrows. A conviction was forcing itself upon him that Ned had no real love for the girl. But if that was the case, why had he become engaged to her; why had he so vigorously defended her of late? Then there was Mrs. Dolly Rover; but Prelice knew nothing about that mysterious lady, as he had not seen her since returning to London. He had half a mind then and there to demand an explanation from Ned; but the presence of Dr. Horace restrained him, and with an afterthought of wisdom, he determined to interview Mrs. Rover herself before coming to an understanding with the barrister. As it was therefore unnecessary to pursue the subject, and as already Horace was asking him mutely why he should take such an interest in an engaged young lady, Prelice changed the subject by an attack on the doctor himself. "I can't understand why you should wish to abandon the search into these cases when you were so keen yesterday to run the show on your own." Horace quite understood the slang of the concluding remark. "I merely quoted a proverb about letting sleeping dogs lie," he said coolly. "Why? Are you afraid for a certain person?" questioned Prelice, meaning Agstone and the listener's relationship with Agstone. "Oh no," retorted the doctor, quite aware of what Prelice was referring to. "The person you hint at is dead, and everyone believes him guilty of the first murder. It doesn't matter who killed him, as Shepworth here is sure to be acquitted. I don't care a damn one way or the other, as you will respect my confidence." "What confidence?" asked the barrister suddenly. "One that I made to Prelice here," said the doctor dryly; then heaving up his squat figure from the armchair, he waddled towards the door. There he paused, and addressed himself to Prelice: "If you go on prying into this matter," he said, with uplifted finger, "you will be very, very sorry, my son." "What do you mean?" "Gammon and spinach," said Horace, again enigmatic, and hurled himself out of the room, still smoking his unwieldy pipe. The two young men stared at one another. "Is he mad?" asked Shepworth.