Cyril looked in astonishment at the negro who spoke such excellent English, and so much to the point. Durgo, undoubtedly, in intellect was equal to, if not superior to, many Englishmen, and Lister saw in him a helpful coadjutor in solving the mystery. "We must work together to learn the whereabouts of my father," he said wearily, passing his hand across his forehead. "It will be necessary to get him out of the country, if what we believe is correct. But it may be, that my father has crossed the Channel." "If that is so, he will write to me," commented the negro; he paused, and then asked abruptly, "If you learn that your father is guilty?" "I shall do my best to get him away from England. Why do you ask?" Durgo turned away, after a piercing glance. "I thought, from what you hinted, that you would not be sorry to see your father hanged." "Don't talk rubbish, man," said Lister sharply. "My father is my father, when all is said and done. I only trust that we are mistaken, and that he is not guilty of this brutal crime." Durgo shrugged his massive shoulders. "As to that, I care very little. From what I have heard of Captain Huxham in my own country, he was not a good man. He is better out of the world than in it." Bella grew crimson. "You speak of my father," she said angrily. The man bowed politely. "I ask your pardon, missy!" Then he turned to Cyril ceremoniously. "I am stopping at 'The Chequers Inn,' at Marshely," he informed him; "so if you will call there we can speak about this matter. Women should have nothing to do with such affairs. They are for men." Lister frowned, as he did not approve of the superior way in which the negro talked. However, Durgo gave him no chance of making a remark, but swung off with a noiseless jungle step. Cyril watched him pass out of sight, and confessed that the man puzzled him. In spite of his barbaric origin and black skin and rough dress, Durgo spoke and acted like a gentleman, though he certainly had been somewhat rude regarding the feminine sex. "Yet I like him," commented Cyril half to himself; "he seems to be a square chap, and to have brains. He is not the usual Christy minstrel of Africa. Humph! After all, I dare say that if you scratched him you would find the savage. His devotion to my father does him credit. I wonder"--here he was interrupted by a low sob at his elbow, and turned to find Bella in tears. "My dearest, what is the matter?" he asked in dismay. "Can you ask?" she moaned despairingly. "If what you think is true, we must part for ever." "Don't look at the worst, but hope for the best," he entreated; "we can't be sure that my father is guilty!" "You contradict yourself," she said, wiping her eyes. "I wish I could; I am trying to think that my father is innocent. But I do not know. My father has been my evil genius all my life." A thought occurred to Bella. "Why did your father require one thousand pounds?"