“If they are put with a proper sense of decorum I will give them my consideration.” “Do you know where my father keeps the treasure, the bulk of which you have robbed him of?” “Most offensively worded. But I will humor you. I never had need”--he shot out an evil smile--“of obtaining my share of the good things by other than legitimate means.” “Do you know?” “No, I don’t, upon the honor of a gentleman.” “Did my brother that’s dead know?” “Really, you tempt me to romance to satisfy your craving for information. I was not in your brother’s confidence.” “Was there the least doubt that my brother was dead when he was buried?” “Ah! I see. You have been hunting chimeras in George White’s company. It is the man’s werewolf, my good friend. You may take my professional certificate that no such thing happened.” I looked at him, my soul lowering with doubt and the gloom of baffled vengeance. “Have you anything further to ask?” he said, with mocking politeness. “Any other insane witness to cite on behalf of this base and baseless prosecution?” “None at present.” I turned and walked a step or two, intending to leave him without another word, but, on a thought, strode back to the waterside. “Listen you!” I cried. “For the time you are quit of me. But bear in mind that I never rest or waver in my purpose till I have found who it was that killed my brother.” With that I went from him. CHAPTER XLII. JASON’S SECOND VISIT. It behooves me now to pass over a period of two years during which so little happened that bore directly upon the fortunes of any concerned in this lamentable history that to touch upon them would be to specify merely the matter-of-fact occurrences of ordinary daily life. To me they were an experience of peace and rest such as I had never yet known. I think--a long sleep on the broad sands of forgetfulness, whitherward the storm had cast me, and from which it was to tear me by and by with redoubled fury and mangle and devour my heart in gluttonous ferocity. As yet, however, the moment had not come, and I lived and went my way in peace and resignation. The first forewarning came one September afternoon of that second year of rest. I had been butterfly-hunting about the meadows that lay to the west of the city, when a particularly fine specimen of the second brood of Brimstone tempted me over some railings that hedged in the ridge of a railway cutting that here bisected the chalky slopes of pasture land. I was cautiously approaching my settled quarry, net in hand, when I started with an exclamation that lost me my prize. On the metals, some distance below, a man whose attitude seemed somehow familiar to me was standing. I shaded my eyes with my hand and looked down, with bewilderment and a little fear constricting my heart.