Without replying to this question, Hugo asked another. "You have no reason to think that there is any other man who would call himself by that name?" "No," said Mr. Colquhoun again, "I haven't. And I don't wish I had. But have you?" "Yes," said Hugo. "Come, come, come," said the lawyer, restlessly; "you are joking, young man. Don't carry a joke too far. What do you mean?" Again Hugo replied by a question. "Did you ever hear of a place called San Stefano?" he said, gently. Old Mr. Colquhoun bounded in his seat. "Good God!" he said, although he was not a man given to the use of such ejaculations. And then he stared fixedly at Hugo. "I can't think how it has been kept quiet so long," said Hugo, tentatively. He was feeling his way. But this remark roused Mr. Colquhoun's ire. "Kept quiet? There was nothing to be kept quiet. Nothing except Mrs. Luttrell's own delusion on the subject; nobody wanted it to be known that she was as mad as a March hare on the subject. The nurse was as honest as the day. I saw her and questioned her myself." "But my aunt never believed----" "She never believed Brian to be her son. So much I may tell you without any breach of confidence, now that they are both in their graves, poor lads!" And then Mr. Colquhoun launched out upon the story of Mrs. Luttrell's illness and (so-called) delusion, to all of which Hugo listened with serious attention. But at the close of the narrative, the lawyer remembered Hugo's opening question. "And how did you come to know anything about it?" he said. Hugo's answer was ready. "I met a queer sort of man in the town this morning who was making inquiries that set me on the alert. I got hold of him--walked along the road with him for some distance--and heard a long story. He was a priest, I think--sent from San Stefano to investigate. I got a good deal out of him." "Eh?" said Mr. Colquhoun, slowly. "And where might he be staying, yon priest?" "Didn't ask," replied Hugo. "I told him to come to you for information. So you can look out. There's something in the wind, I'm sure. I thought you might have heard of it. Thank you for your readiness to enlighten me, Mr. Colquhoun. I've learnt a good deal to-day. Good morning." "Now what did he mean by that?" said the lawyer, when he was left alone. "It's hard to tell when he's telling the truth and when he's lying just for the pleasure of it, so to speak. As for his priest--I'm not so sure that I believe in his priest. I'll send down to the hotel and inquire." He sent to every hotel in the place, and from every hotel he received the same answer. They had no foreign visitor, and had had none for the last three weeks. There was apparently not a priest in the place. "It'll just be one of Master Hugo's lies," said Mr. Colquhoun, grimly. "There's a rod in pickle for that young man one of these days, and I should like well to have the applying of it to his shoulders. He's an awful scamp, is Hugo."