"Perhaps that's the reason my brother stops out there so persistently?" said Mrs. Taunton, leaning back in her chair. The two gentlemen suddenly became grave, whereat the lady sat up again. "What do you mean by all this mystery," she asked impetuously; "last night Mr. Monteith roused my curiosity to the highest pitch about my brother, and then refused to gratify it. Is anything wrong? Has Leopold run away with another man's wife, or found a gold mine, or committed a murder, or what?" She tried to speak lightly, but there was a ring of anxiety in her tones. "You promised to show me his portrait," said Monteith, suddenly looking up. Mrs. Taunton arose without a word, and going to a distant table, took up a photograph framed in purple plush, which she placed in Monteith's hands. "Taken seven years ago," she said. Monteith looked at the dark, handsome face of the portrait with a vague expression of sadness in his eyes, and handed it to Foster with a sigh:-- "It is Lionel Ventin." "Ah!" said Foster, with a long breath, as he looked at it, "I thought as much." "What do you mean by calling my brother Lionel Ventin?" asked Mrs. Taunton quickly, clasping her hands; "that is--that is the name of the man that was--that was--murdered!" The last word came out almost in a shriek as she sprang to her feet. Monteith nodded sadly. "Yes," he replied, gravely, "Leopold Verschoyle and Lionel Ventin are the same." "Then he--my brother is the man who was murdered on board the Neptune?" she asked, in a whisper. Foster arose in alarm. "Let me get you some water," he said, advancing towards her, but she waved him back. "Was my brother the man?" Monteith bowed. "And you gave evidence at the inquest?" He bowed again. Mrs. Taunton braced herself up with a mighty effort, her charming face looking pale, and drawn with horror. She walked away a few steps, then suddenly wheeled round on the two men, who were watching her silently:-- "Who killed him?" "That is what we intend to find out," said Monteith, slowly, "and you must assist us." Mrs. Taunton sat down, and, clasping her hands over her knee, sat staring at the Australian with a rigid face. The shadows were falling fast in the street outside, and through the gathering gloom of the room the two men could see the white, set face of this woman looking like that of a lost spirit.