"We'll say you're Irish, and you can fix up a brogue. Trust me. I've been in several holes myself, and know how to get out of the deepest." "But, Jarman, who do you think killed the man?" "I can't say that until I know more. The reason is to be found in Walter Starth's past. He has sown the wind pretty freely, and I can hardly wonder at his reaping this whirlwind." "Do you think he intended to trap me?" asked Lancaster. "Yes. He's not the man to apologise. And the house being empty on that evening shows that Starth was up to some trickery. Maybe he intended to kill you. However, he never intended to die himself." "How do you know? He may have committed suicide." "Bosh! Starth was the last man in the world to have such an idea. He wasn't cowardly enough. I will say that. Besides, if he wished to commit suicide he would scarcely invite you to see him do it." "I don't know. He might have left a letter saying I shot him, and then got out of the world to hang me." Jarman shrugged his huge shoulders. "That's an extreme measure of revenge. If he wanted to get you into trouble, he would certainly like to be present to see how you took your gruel. Another thing, from what you say, your pistol was used." "I think so. At all events, it was taken from my pocket." "H'm! He searched you. Anything else missing?" "The note in which he asked me to call." "That proves Starth set a trap. I think--no I don't; I can't deliver an opinion until I know more. Go to bed and sleep." "I can't sleep," said Frank, passionately. "I'm ruined." But for all that he dropped into a deep slumber almost as soon as his head touched the pillow. "Worn out, poor wretch!" said Eustace. CHAPTER IV TWO HUNDRED POUNDS REWARD "What do you think of my new secretary, Miss Cork?" asked Jarman next morning, when his housekeeper was laying the table. He put the question purposely to arrange matters for the disguise. "I didn't see quite rightly, Mr. Jarman, my eyes being weak. Young?" "And dark and Irish. His eyes are weak to the extent of blue glasses." "I didn't see them, sir." "No, poor chap. He broke them crossing the Common, left his baggage in London, and got lost in our country." "Oh, he'll know it soon, Mr. Jarman. I'm an Essex woman myself--Billericay way--and the country is easy. What's the gentleman's name, Sir?" "Desmond," said Eustace, lying with an unmoved face. "Desmond O'Neil." "I'll remember, sir." "And, oh, Miss Cork, I shouldn't mention about his late arrival and loss of baggage if I were you. The Irish are sensitive." "As well I know from politics, Mr. Jarman. No, sir, I'll say nothing."