"I am sorry I spoke as I did, mother," he said tenderly, arranging her pillows. "Now that I have heard your story, I see that you have suffered greatly. It is not my right to reproach you. No doubt you acted for the best; therefore, I do not say a word against you or Mr. Hilliston, but ask you to forgive me." The tears were rolling down Mrs. Bezel's cheeks as he spoke thus, and without uttering a word, she put her hand in his in token of forgiveness. Claude pressed his lip to her faded cheek, and thus reconciled--as much as was possible under the circumstances--they began to talk of the case. "What do you intend to do?" asked Mrs. Bezel weakly. "Find out who killed my father." "It is impossible--after five-and-twenty years. I have told you all I know, and you see I cannot help you. I do not know whom to suspect." "You surely have some suspicion, mother?" "No, I have no suspicions. Whomsoever killed your father took the dagger out of my sitting room." "Perhaps Mona----" "I think not. She had no reason to kill him." "He had wronged her." "And me!" cried Mrs. Bezel vehemently. "Do not talk any more of these things, Claude. I know nothing more; I can tell you nothing more." "Then I must try and find John Parver, and learn how he became acquainted with the story." "That is why I sent for you; why I revealed myself; why I told you all I have suffered. Find John Parver, and tell me who he is, what he is." This Claude promised to do, and, as his mother was worn out by the long conversation, he shortly afterward took his leave. As he descended Fitzjohn's Avenue a thought flashed into his mind as to the identity of John Parver. "I wonder if John Parver is Mark Jeringham?" said Claude. The question was to be answered on that very evening. CHAPTER XIII. ON THE TRACK. IT was nearly six o'clock when Claude returned to Earls Street, and Tait, already dressed for the evening, was waiting his arrival with considerable impatience. His usual imperturbability had given place to a self-satisfied air, as though he had succeeded in accomplishing a difficult undertaking. He uttered a joyful exclamation when he saw Claude enter, but a look of apprehension passed over his face when he noted the altered appearance of his friend. "What is wrong?" he asked, as Claude threw himself into a chair, with a sigh of fatigue. "Do you bring bad news? My dear fellow, you are completely worn out. Here, Dormer, a glass of sherry for Mr. Larcher." The servant, who was putting the finishing touches to the dinner-table, speedily obeyed this order, and Tait made his friend drink the wine without delay. Then he proceeded to question him regarding the reason of his pallor, but with his usual caution first sent Dormer out of the room. Only when they were alone did he venture to speak on the subject about which both were thinking. "Well!" he demanded anxiously, "you saw Mrs. Bezel?"