“why, miss bristowe!” i cried. “perhaps you don’t recollect me?”

she started quickly, and drew back for a moment, her countenance blanching; then looking into my face, she said, with a timid laugh: “why, of course, doctor! but have you forgiven me for taking you on that fool’s errand?”

“yes, long ago,” i laughed. “but our meeting this evening is certainly unexpected. have you friends in this neighbourhood?”

she replied in the affirmative, but without giving me any explanation.

“and your brother?” i asked, recollecting whitworth’s declaration that he had never heard of her. “is he any better?”

“oh, a great deal, thanks,” was her reply. “he took a turn for the better that night i came to you, and has improved ever since.”

she looked, i think, prettier than on that night when we had driven together to blackheath. but she had deceived me in regard to her statement concerning dr. whitworth, so i supposed she was deceiving me now.

she was in a hurry to get home, she told me, and my first impulse was to follow her secretly, but when i recollected that the man for whom i had been so long in wait was actually inside no. 7, i decided to keep watch upon him rather than upon her.

the fact that she had come from that house was in itself curious, and made me suspect that her visit to me on that night in walworth had some secret connection with the scheme of this man purvis.

the manner in which she was hurrying when i stopped her made it plain that she was late for some appointment.

there were two courses open to me, namely: to follow her, or else to remain and await purvis. the discovery that she was friendly with some person at no. 7 had suddenly aroused within me a desire to know her place of abode in order to make secret inquiries concerning her. yet, after all, my chief business was with purvis, so i decided to remain on watch for him.

with her consent, therefore, i saw her into an omnibus for ludgate hill, whence she told me she would take train home, and when i parted from her i expressed a fervent hope that we might meet again before very long.

“good-night,” she said, as we shook hands. “yes, i hope we shall meet again—in more fortunate circumstances than to-night.” and she mounted into the omnibus and left me.

what could she mean by more fortunate circumstances? i was puzzled at her words, but at last their truth became apparent.

through many hours, till far into the night, i waited in that vicinity for the man who was my rival. but he never came out, neither that day nor the next.

the reason, i afterwards found, was simple enough. the servant had played me false and told him everything; therefore he had waited until darkness set in, and then climbed over several garden walls into wells street, a short thoroughfare running parallel at the back, and quietly emerged into gray’s inn road.

so while i had waited patiently in front he had ingeniously escaped at the back, aided most probably by the mysterious miss bristowe and mrs. graham, whose character, of course, i had no means of ascertaining. according, however, to my friend the constable, some shifty individuals lived in that neighbourhood.

in any case i had the dissatisfaction of knowing that all my vigilance had been naught, and that the man purvis would never again run the gauntlet of calthorpe street. he would no doubt arrange for another address, and if so i might obtain it by means of the kenways, providing, of course, that they had not yet told him the house was let.

i took counsel with mr. staffurth, as i did very frequently nowadays.

i blamed myself that on that night i was alone. had i an assistant with me he might have followed the young lady home. staffurth being of the same opinion, suggested that i should accept the services of his nephew, a young bank clerk who had been compelled to leave his occupation in the city temporarily on account of ill-health. this young fellow, whom i had met once or twice at clapham, was named philip reilly. smart, well dressed, and well educated, he had been an athlete before his illness, and had carried off many prizes at lillie bridge and other places.

he was just the sort of young man to be useful, and when that evening he sat in his uncle’s study and the full facts of the case were related to him in confidence, he became highly excited over it, and announced his eagerness to act under my directions.

“we have a formidable enemy to contend with, philip,” the old gentleman pointed out. “and recollect that whatever may happen you must act with due caution so as not to play into the hands of our rivals.”

“trust me for that,” he said. “the affair sounds exciting, at all events.”

“yes,” i remarked, “and matters will grow more exciting before long, i anticipate.”

“but this miss bristowe,” he exclaimed. “have we no means of rediscovering her?”

“at present, i am sorry to say, we haven’t,” i responded. “we may possibly get hold of purvis’s new postal address, and if we do so it may lead us back to miss bristowe, who seems to me somehow associated with him. how, of course, i can’t tell.”

reilly sat with folded arms, his clean-shaven face bearing a deep, thoughtful look as he puffed his pipe. it is not given to every one to be engaged on a treasure hunt, and from the first moment when he was told about it its interest overwhelmed him and he was eager to make a commencement.

after a long consultation it was arranged that we should both go down to caldecott and endeavour to find out purvis’s new address. it was also agreed that before we took another step we ought to be acquainted with the personal appearance of our rival.

to work in the dark any longer might, we foresaw, prove fatal to our object; therefore, on the following day, i introduced reilly to the kenways as the new tenant of the manor house.

fortunately they had not communicated with purvis. hence i took them somewhat into my confidence, and induced mr. kenway to write a letter to calthorpe street, asking whether he intended to take the house, and requesting the favour of a reply.

this he did at my dictation, and i had the satisfaction of putting the letter in the post-box at rockingham. by that ruse i hoped to gain knowledge of purvis’s new address. as had already been proved, he was what is vulgarly known as “a slippery customer,” but both reilly and myself determined that if we once knew his postal address we would very quickly come up with him.

we had taken up our quarters at the sonde arms, at rockingham, and very comfortable and rustic they were after the dust and heat of london. my long and unavailing vigil in that stifling side street had rather pulled me down. day after day i had waited there, often hungry and thirsty, and at all times dusty and uncomfortable, compelled to eat as i could, and to hobnob with all and sundry, until my very heart seemed stifled by the dust of the throbbing city.

but in old-world rockingham, even on the most sultry day, were soft zephyrs that fanned our cheeks. we ate in a room at the back, and to us, through the open window, came the sweet scent of the climbing roses and honeysuckle, and the mingled perfume of the old-fashioned cottage garden behind. the fare was plain and wholesome, the ale home-brewed and of the best, and we also had an opportunity to gossip with the drink-sodden old simpleton ben knutton.

the kenways were looking for other quarters, therefore we could not yet take possession of the manor house. reilly had given forth that he was a student, a man of means, and something of an invalid, therefore he had hired the house for the purposes of being quiet and able to study without such distractions as there were in london.

he was full of ingenuity, which i quickly recognized after he had associated himself with me. he made a minute inspection of the house i had taken for him, and afterwards became possessed of the fixed idea that the treasure was secreted behind the panelling of the centre upstairs room. why, i know not. but no argument of mine would remove the idea, and he was frantically anxious to obtain possession of the premises in order to secure the old italian’s hoard.

we were, however, compelled to exercise considerable patience. we could not hurry the outgoing tenants, neither dare we betray any undue anxiety regarding the place. we could only await a response from purvis.

it came at last after nearly a week of idle waiting. mr. kenway handed it to me, saying:?—

“it seems as though he wants to take the place after all.”

“he’s too late,” i laughed, and eagerly read the letter, which was to the effect that he had not yet decided, but would write giving a definite answer in a couple of days. the letter was headed, “14, sterndale road, hammersmith, london,” and to that address mr. kenway was asked to write.

our ruse had worked satisfactorily. we were again cognizant of the address—the postal address—of our mysterious rival.

reilly was eager to return to london in search of him, but we remained at rockingham yet another day, making inquiries and getting on good terms with most of the people with whom we came into contact.

ben knutton was, of course, closely questioned, and in reply to my inquiry whether he had since met the gentleman who purchased the bit of parchment from him, he said:?—

“yes. ’e came about a fortni’t ago and asked me if i had anything else to sell, and i told him that i hadn’t.”

“he called on you at your cottage?”

“yes. one night after i came ’ome from work. he made me let him look through all the things i had. i told him that i’d heard that the parchment i sold him was worth a lot o’ money, and he asked who told me. i explained that a gentleman from london had been asking about it after he had bought it, and he laughed, saying: ‘i know the man; ’e’s a fool, ’e is.’?”

“meaning me, eh?”

“i suppose so, sir, of course, beggin’ your pardon.”

“well, mr. knutton, i don’t think i’m much of a fool,” i laughed. “that man swindled you, that’s all.”

“then do you really think, sir, that the parchment had something to do with our property?” he asked in surprise.

“possibly it may have,” was my response. “of course i’ve never seen it, so can’t say.”

“well, sir,” the old labourer burst forth, “i don’t like that man at all. ’e ain’t no gentleman, that i’m sure.”

he had, i supposed, failed to “stand” the necessary quantity of beer which, in knutton’s eyes, stamped the gentleman.

“why not?” i inquired.

“because he made a lot of unkind remarks about you, sir,” was his answer. “he told me that you were trying to swindle me out of the money we ought to have, and a long yarn showing you up to be one of the worst o’ blackguards.”

“very kind of him, i’m sure,” i laughed. “one day, however, we shall see who’s the scoundrel and adventurer. in the meantime, knutton, just beware of any future dealings with him.”

“i will, sir,” was the man’s reply. “i’m very sorry i ever sold that parchment. i only wish i’d showed it to you. you’re a gentleman as would perhaps have been able to read it.”

“ah, knutton, i only wish you had kept it for me,” i responded, with a heartfelt sigh. “but it’s useless to cry over spilt milk, you know. we must make the best of it. all you have to do, however, is to keep a still tongue in your head and beware of any other gentleman from london.”

“oh, i will, sir, now. you can rely on me—that you can.” and the old fellow raised his great mug of beer and emptied it at a single gulp.

his capacity for ale, like that of many farm labourers, was simply astounding.