It was a most awkward meeting. Dorothy, Train, and Brendon knew the truth, but Mrs. Ward and Vane were ignorant. As to Lord Derrington himself, George was not sure. After his conversation with Lola he had a vague idea that since Bawdsey was connected in some way with his grandfather, Lord Derrington must have somehow learned that Brendon was the name his grandson had taken. There was no other way of accounting for the mention of Derrington's name by the private inquiry agent.

However this might be, Lord Derrington was too clever a man to betray himself. George felt that the old man knew who he was, but he could not be sure, for Derrington welcomed him with a well-bred air, as he would have done a stranger. Mrs. Ward watched the meeting curiously, and Brendon noticed her inquiring gaze. But he put this down to his knowledge that Derrington knew he was a suitor for Dorothy's hand and wished the girl to marry Vane. Leonard was the only person in the room who displayed any visible disturbance. He grew red and restless. Brendon was perfectly calm.

"How delightful of you to come, Mr. Brendon," said Mrs. Ward, rising and apparently forgetting that she had forbidden him the house. "I must introduce you: Lord Derrington--Mr. Brendon; and you know Mr. Train."

"We are old friends," said George, calmly. "Miss Ward"--he bowed to Dorothy, who emulated his serenity although she felt anxious. But when she saw her lover's composure she knew that nothing disagreeable would occur, and her apprehensions were relieved.

There ensued a general conversation relative to the weather, to the doings of a certain politician, and to sundry other subjects more or less vague. George talked excellently, and was conscious that Derrington was listening with approval. Again and again he wondered if the old man really knew who he was, and again and again he failed to arrive at any conclusion. After a time Leonard went with Dorothy to the piano, where she played for his delectation, and Mrs. Ward seized the opportunity to show Vane some new photographs of herself. Derrington and Brendon were practically alone, and the old lord appeared anxious to make himself agreeable. George was watchful for the cloven hoof, but it did not peep out. Truculent tyrant as Derrington was, yet he could play the part of a highly bred, polished gentleman of the old school to perfection. He did so on this occasion.

"I have heard of you from Mrs. Ward," he said in his harsh tones, which no amount of politeness could render agreeable, "but I do not think we have met before."

"No. I cannot recall any meeting," replied George, wondering if the other was about to hint that he had seen some one resembling him. "I have seen you in the distance, however."

"Distance lends enchantment to the view in my case."

"You are pleased to say so, Lord Derrington."

"I generally do say what I please," responded the old man, shooting a sharp glance at George.

"Are you related to the Brendons of Shropshire?"

"No. I have not that privilege."

Derrington chuckled at this reply. He thought George had a good deal of the man in him when he answered thus fearlessly. "I have seen your name somewhere lately," he observed, "but I can't recall where or in what connection."

Brendon laughed, quite at his ease, although he did not know if this was an attempt to make him speak out. However, he did speak out, with the idea of seeing what would happen. "I can supply the connection," said he, lightly, but keenly observant of the old man's face. "My name appeared as a witness at an inquest a week or so back."

"Ah, now I remember, Mr. Brendon. Quite so. It was that Amelia Square murder."

"You have a good memory, Lord Derrington."

"In this case you flatter me, Mr. Brendon. There is no difficulty in my remembering the especial case, as Mrs. Jersey was a tenant of mine."

George was not supposed to know this and displayed suitable surprise.

"Indeed," he said; "then you have lost a good tenant."

"Possibly," replied Derrington, rather grimly. "She always paid her rent regularly. You saw her?"

"Yes. My friend, Mr. Train, was stopping in the house----"

"That young man." Derrington cast a look in Leonard's direction. "I did not know he was there on that night."

"He was a witness also," said Brendon, significantly.

"I can't remember all the names sir. Well?"

"I stopped for the night with Al; Train, and during the night Mrs. Jersey was murdered."

"You heard nothing--you saw nothing?"

"I was sound asleep the whole time," said Brendon, calmly.

"Humph!" Derrington pulled at his gray mustache in the very same way as George did when he was reflective. "What a pity. You might have discovered the assassin."

"I don't think the assassin will ever be discovered."

"That's luck for the assassin," rejoined the old lord, cynically. "You appear to be very certain, Mr. Brendon."

George shrugged his shoulders. "No more certain than the police are," he replied. "They examined every one in the house, and no one could be accused--there was absolutely no evidence. And the assassin could not have entered the house, as the door was locked, and the key was in the pocket of the murdered woman."

Derrington, for some reason, appeared to be rather relieved. "I read all that in the papers," he said roughly. "You are telling me nothing new. But there, you didn't say you would. By the way, you stopped at that house. Do you know a Miss Bull?"

George nodded. "She told my fortune," he said.

"She told Mrs. Jersey's fortune also, and a very true fortune did she tell," said Derrington, grimly. "What did she prophesy about you?"

"The usual thing," said Brendon, curtly.

"Trouble, I suppose. These card-people generally prophesy trouble, as it is certain to occur."

"There was trouble and enemies, and the promise that I should get my wish," said Brendon, with a quick look.

Derrington laughed. "What is your wish?"

"If I tell it I won't get it," replied George, also laughing; "but I don't believe in fortune-telling. It is rubbish."

"It wasn't in Mrs. Jersey's case," said the other, who appeared to be a trifle superstitious.

"Oh, that was a mere coincidence. But you asked me about Miss Bull, sir! Do you know her?"

Derrington nodded. "She came to me on behalf of Mrs. Jersey's niece and wished the lease renewed. I heard her story and consented. I dare say the niece will be quite as good a tenant as the aunt."

This conversation was all very well, but there was nothing to be learned from it on either side. Brendon could not discover if his grandfather knew to whom he was speaking, and Derrington found it impossible to learn if George could tell him anything of the case which had not been reported in the papers. For some reason Derrington wished to know what had transpired, and Brendon felt convinced that this anxiety was more than that of a landlord for the loss of a good tenant. He wondered if Derrington knew that Mrs. Jersey had written out a confession and that it was missing. He would had liked to find out, but since he could not reveal himself as Derrington's grandson there was no chance of getting this information. Besides, Derrington appeared to grow weary of discussing the murder. "It is worn threadbare," he said. "All the papers have been talking about it. I agree with you, Mr. Brendon, that the assassin will never be discovered."

"Never!" said George, looking full at the determined face of the old man. "Are you quite sure?

"I am sure of nothing in this world, save that you said so yourself, Mr. Brendon. However, there are pleasanter subjects to talk of. What about yourself--your aims, your ambitions, your chances of success?"

"Are those pleasant subjects?" laughed Brendon.

"To an old man such as I am," nodded the other. "I like to hear of the castles in the air which youth builds."

"I am afraid my castles will never turn to bricks and mortar," said Brendon with a sigh.

However, he was not averse to showing his grandfather that he was no fool, but a man with a head on his shoulders. George had a quick brain and a strong will and a considerable fund of information. He had taken a good degree at Oxford, and his literary articles always received praise from the public, and from his brethren of the press. Moreover, George was fond of politics, and could converse excellently on that fascinating subject. He laid himself out to please Derrington, knowing that the old tyrant was disappointed in the languid Vane, who was chattering commonplace to Mrs. Ward. In a short time Brendon and Derrington were engaged in a discussion about Ireland and Irish Home Rule, and the old lord approved, highly of Brendon's sentiments.

"You ought to be in the House, Mr. Brendon," he said.

"I have no one to help me to such a goal."

Derrington was about to speak, and fastened his little eyes on the keen, handsome face of the younger man. But he suddenly changed his mind and turned away to talk to Mrs. Ward. Brendon knew that he had succeeded in pleasing the old gentleman, and was glad that so much was accomplished. If Derrington found that he was clever and presentable, and likely to add luster to the family name, it was not improbable that he would recognize the marriage. But by this time George had it in his mind that Derrington knew who he was, and had been talking advisedly under the cover of pretended ignorance, so as to see what manner of man his unacknowledged grandson was. "Well," thought Brendon, "he has learned that I am no fool, at all events."

Mrs. Ward came across to George and left Derrington talking to Dorothy, for whom he professed a great admiration. He knew that Dorothy liked Brendon, as Mrs. Ward had told him so, and he frankly acknowledged to her that Brendon was a clever man. "I wish my grandson had his brains," said Derrington, regretfully.

"I am pleased you like him," responded Dorothy, who could not tell him that Brendon was his grandson, and hardly knew what to say. "He is as good as he is clever."

This remark did not please Derrington. "Humph! I don't like good young men. They generally become bad old scamps."

"Were you a good young man, Lord Derrington?" asked Dorothy, demurely.

He appreciated the joke. "One of the best," he said, with a twinkle in his eyes, "consequently I have gone to the other extreme for many years."

"They say one always returns to his first loves," said Dorothy, smiling, "so you may revert to your godly youth."

Derrington shook his wicked old head. "My first loves are all dead and buried, my dear. But this Brendon--you like him?"

Dorothy did not see why see should conceal her feelings. "I love him," she said quietly and firmly.

"Ha!" replied Derrington, showing no surprise. "Mrs. Ward hinted at something of that sort, but I thought that Walter----"

"Please say no more, Lord Derrington."

"Well, then, I won't." Derrington's eyes rested wrathfully on the withered young man he called grandson. "I don't wonder at your choice, my dear. What Walter requires is a nurse."

"That is a profession I have not taken up," said Dorothy, laughing. She was very anxious to say something good about George to Derrington, on the chance that it might soften his hard old heart. But after all, George had spoken for himself and was his own best advocate. If she interfered, seeing that she was supposed to know nothing of the relationship, she might make mischief. Therefore she held her tongue on the subject nearest to her heart and talked in the most general manner. Derrington said no more about Brendon, but Dorothy noticed that his eyes were rarely off the face of her lover. George had certainly made an impression.

Meantime, Vane joined Mrs. W............