The photograph depicted a family gathering on the lawn at Beechcroft. There were eight persons in it, three being elderly men. David reflected. "That was before I left Harrow, and Christmas time. Seventeen almost, within a couple of weeks." "So your cousin Margaret was sixteen?" "Yes." "She was remarkably tall, well-developed for her age." "That was a notable characteristic from an early age. We boys used to call her 'Mama,' when we wanted to vex her." "The three old gentlemen are very much alike. This is the baronet. Who are the others?" "My father and uncle." "What! Do you mean to tell me there is another branch of the family?" "Well, yes, in a sense. My uncle is dead. His son, my age or a little older, for the youngest of the three brothers was married first, was last heard of in Argentina." Brett threw the photograph down with clatter. "Good Heavens!" he vociferated, "when shall I begin to comprehend this business in its entirety? How many more uncles, and aunts, and cousins have you?" Amazed by this outburst, Hume endeavoured to put matters right. "I never thought--" he commenced. "You come to me to do the thinking, Hume. For goodness' sake switch your memory for five minutes from Miss Layton, and tell me all you know of your family history. Have you any other relations?" "None whatever." "And this newly-arrived cousin, what of him?" "He was in the navy, and being of a quarrelsome disposition, was court-martialled for some small outbreak. He would not submit to discipline, and resigned the service. Then his father died, and Bob went off to South America. I have never heard of him since. I know very little about my younger uncle's household. Indeed, the occasion recorded by the photograph was the last time the old men met in friendship. There was a dispute about money matters. My Uncle Charles was in the city, the two estates being left by my grandfather to the two oldest sons. Charles Hume-Frazer died a poor man, having lost his fortune by speculation." "Have you seen your cousin Robert? Did he resemble Alan and you?" "We were all as like as peas. People say that our house is remarkable for the unchanging type of its male line. That is readily demonstrated by the family portraits. You have not been in the dining-room or picture-gallery at Beechcroft, or you must have noticed this instantly." Brett flung himself into a chair. "The Argentine!" he muttered. "A nice school for a 'quarrelsome' Hume-Frazer." He had calmed sufficiently to reach for his cigarette-case when Smith entered with a note, delivered by a boy messenger. It was from Winter: "Have found Okasaki. His name is now Numagawa Jiro, so you were right, as usual. He and Mrs. Jiro live at 17 St. John's Mansions, Kensington." CHAPTER XI MR. "OKASAKI"