"No one will do so," said Tait soothingly. "Control yourself, my dear fellow, and we will look into this matter together. I have just been reading about a crime, but I did not think I would be so soon concerned in dealing with one." "You will help me, Tait? You will stand by me?" "My dear friend, can you ask? I am completely at your service, and together we will do all in our power to discover the murderer of your father and clear the memory of your mother." "It is clear. She was acquitted by the jury. Don't you dare to----" "I don't dare to say anything," interrupted Tait impatiently. "Do be reasonable, my good fellow. So long as I am ignorant, I can say nothing. Tell me the particulars and we may arrive at some conclusion. Now then, give me a _précis_ of the case." Dominated by the superior calm of his friend, Claude related the Larcher affair as succinctly as possible. The details of the case had impressed themselves too strongly on his brain for him to hesitate in the narration, and, keeping his emotions well in hand, he managed to give a fairly minute account of the tragedy which had taken place at Horriston in the year 1866. The effect on Tait was surprising. A look of blank astonishment overspread his face as Larcher proceeded with his story, and when it was finished he looked anxiously at his friend. Apart from the details of the case, he was deeply interested in the matter from another point of view. Larcher waited to hear what his friend thought of the case, but instead of commenting thereon Tait both acted and spoke in an apparently irrelevant manner. Without a word he heard Claude to the end, then rose from his seat, and walking to the other end of the room returned with three volumes bound in red cloth. "This book is called 'A Whim of Fate,'" said he placing the volumes at Larcher's elbow. "Have you read it?" "Confound it, what do you mean?" burst out Claude, with justifiable wrath. "I tell you of a serious matter which nearly concerns myself, and you prattle about the last fashionable novel." "Wait a minute," said Tait, laying a detaining hand on his friend's coat sleeve. "There is more method in my madness than you give me credit for." "What do you mean?" "The story you tell me is most extraordinary. But the information I am about to impart to you is more extraordinary still. You say this crime at Horriston was committed five-and-twenty years ago." "Yes, you can see by the date of those newspapers." "It has very likely faded out of all memories." "Of course! I don't suppose anyone is now alive who gives it a thought." "Well," said Tait, "it is certainly curious." "What is curious? Explain yourself." "The story you tell me now was known to me last night." Larcher looked at his friend in unconcealed surprise, and promptly contradicted what seemed to be a foolish assertion. "That is impossible, Tait. I heard it only last night myself." "Nevertheless, I read it last night."