At one of the principal hotels in Bombay a young man sat reading the letter from which the above long extract is given. He would have been fairly good-looking but for the unpleasant expression which his reckless indulgence in vicious pleasures and his aggressively selfish temperament had given him. In height and breadth he somewhat exceeded the average, but his gait was seen to be clumsy when he walked, although his proportions were regular enough. His hands and feet were small and well shaped, his complexion of a clear, but healthy enough paleness when he condescended to lead an abstemious life. Just now it was full of tell-tale pimples. His features were regular; his teeth well-shaped, but slightly discoloured; his hair, eyes, and expression all as black as they can be found anywhere. Such was Hugh Stavanger, known on the hotel books as Harry Staley. He had been to the “poste restante” for his letter, and as his eyes wandered from one page to another, rapidly deciphering the contents that would have proved so baffling to anyone not initiated in the business of Stavanger, Stavanger, and Co., the heavy scowl on his face gave way to a look of evil triumph, not unmingled with astonishment. “Well, of all the lucky accidents, these beat everything,” he murmured. “To think of all those people being bowled over like that. But what a caution the governor is, to be sure, with his talk about wickedness and Providence. And he really writes as if he believes what he preaches. There is one thing, though, in which he is quite right. The sea can’t give up its dead, at any rate not in such a condition as to be able to speak against me. Hullo! What’s this? Curse that girl. There is no mistake about her now. She was a spy when pretending to be governess. She disappeared from our house the night I sailed. This means that she found out where I was going to, and set that scoundrel of a Riddell on my trail. Her next manœuvre was to follow me out to Malta. These people evidently know who really took the diamonds. And they are moving heaven and earth to bring me to book. Ah! well! They mean to win. So do I, and all the odds are now in my favour. They may suspect what they like, but they haven’t a proof left. As the governor says, Providence is dead against them. We all know that it’s no use flying in the face of Providence, so my enemies are foredoomed to disappointment.