Durham was much excited when he read the account which Conniston had extracted from Mrs. Gilroy's diary. However, he declined to give an opinion until he read the diary itself. He then told Dick that the discovery had been made in the nick of time.  
"The Italian is coming to see me to-morrow," he said, showing a letter. "I advertised that he would hear of something to his advantage if he called, as Bernard wants to help him. When he comes, you may be sure that I shall get the truth out of him."
 
"Do you think he's guilty, Mark?"
 
"It is hard to say," replied Durham, shaking his head. "The whole case is so mixed that one doesn't know who is guilty or innocent."
 
"Save Bernard," put in Conniston, a cigarette.
 
"Certainly. However, we may learn something of the truth from——"
 
"Not Mrs. Gilroy," said Conniston quickly, "unless you have succeeded in finding her."
 
"No, I have not been so lucky. She has vanished altogether. But Beryl may be able to tell something."
 
"But he won't."
 
"I am not so sure of that. We have Jerry in our hands, and that young scamp is in the employment of Beryl. He will have to explain how the boy came to Bernard to Crimea Square in time to be accused."
 
"Why not ask Jerry?"
 
"Because Jerry would immediately run away. No, I'll wait. Perhaps Michael may speak out. He's ill enough."
 
"Michael?" echoed Conniston in . "What of him?"
 
"Oh, the dickens!" said Durham in quite an unprofessional way, and stood up to warm himself at the fire in his favorite attitude. "I didn't intend to tell you that."
 
"Tell me what?"
 
"That we had caught Michael Gilroy, or , or whatever he chooses to call himself."
 
"Have you caught him? Well, I'm hanged!"
 
"I hope he won't be," said Durham, grimly. "I did not catch him myself. He came one night last week to the to see Miss Malleson."
 
Conniston jumped up with an . "That is playing a daring game," he said. "Why, the fellow must know that she would spot him."
 
Durham pinched his chin and eyed Conniston. "I can't understand what his game is myself," he said slowly. "Of course, so far as looks go, the fellow is the double of Bernard without the distinguishing mark of the ."
 
"You have seen him then?"
 
"Yes. A day or two ago. I asked Miss Plantagenet to pretend that she and Miss Malleson believed him to be Bernard. They have done so with such success that the boy—he is no more, being younger than Bernard—is lying in bed in the turret-room quite under the impression that he has the lot of us. Of course," added Durham, looking down, "he may be trusting to his illness to still further increase the to Bernard, which, I may say, is startling, and to supply any little differences."
 
"That's all jolly fine," said Dick, getting astride of a chair in his excitement, "but Bernard and Alice, being lovers, must have many things in common about which this man can't know anything."
 
"Quite so. And Miss Malleson knew he wasn't Bernard, seeing that the real man is at your castle. But even without that knowledge I don't think she would long have been deceived. Michael, putting aside his marvellous resemblance, is a common sort of man and not at all well educated. If you can image Bernard as one of the common people, without education and polish, you have Michael."
 
"What a nerve that Michael must have. How does he carry it off?"
 
Durham his shoulders. "The poor chap is not in a condition to carry off anything," he said; "he's lying pretty well worn out in bed, and Payne says it will be a long time before he is himself. I think he is simply pleased to know he has been accepted as Bernard, and is glad to an explanation in case he'll be turned out."
 
"There's no danger of that," said Dick. "My aunt wouldn't turn out a cat in that state, much less a human being."
 
"Oh, Miss Berengaria seems to have taken quite a fancy to the man. She declares there's pluck in him, and——"
 
"But seeing he is a criminal—a murderer——"
 
"We don't know that he is, Conniston, and this"—Durham laid his hand on the diary—"goes to prove his ."
 
"Bosh!" said Dick, jumping up. "I believe Mrs. Gilroy prepared that diary and left it out so that Miss Randolph would drop across it. If anyone killed Sir Simon it was Michael."
 
"Or Beryl."
 
"He was at the theatre."
 
"I know, but he managed to get the deed done by someone else. I really can't give an opinion yet, Conniston," said Durham resuming his seat, with a ; "to-morrow, when I see this Italian, I may learn something likely to throw light on the case. Meantime go back and tell Bernard I am working hard."
 
"That goes without the speaking," said his lordship, lightly; "we know what a worker you are, Mark. But Bernard wishes to take a hand in the game."
 
"Then he shall not do so," said Durham, sharply. "If he appears at this all will be lost. I have a plan," he added, hesitating.
 
"What is it?" demanded the curious Conniston.
 
"Never you mind just now. It has to do with Mrs. Gilroy being from her hiding-place. I'll tell you what it is after I have seen Tolomeo. But the success of my plan depends upon Bernard keeping in the background. If you tell him about Michael——"
 
"He'll be over like a shot. And after all, Mark, it's not pleasant to think a fellow is masquerading as you with the girl you love."
 
"Bernard must put up with that," snapped Durham, who was getting cross. "His neck depends upon my management of this affair. Should he go to Hurseton he will be recognized by everyone, let alone Jerry, who would at once tell Beryl. You know what that means."
 
"I know that Beryl is playing for a big stake he won't land," said Conniston, grimly, and walked towards the door. "All right, Mark, I'll sit on Bernard and keep him quiet. But, I say, I want to tell you I am in love with——"
 
"Conniston, I will certainly throw something at your head if you don't clear. I have enough to do without listening to your love——"
 
"Not mine. She is—well there, I daresay your nerves are thin. I do wish all this business was ended. You used to be no end of a chap, and now you are as cross as a battery and twice as ."
 
Lord Conniston talked himself out of the office, and went down to Castle by a later train. Here he managed to the impatient Bernard, no easy task. But the lessons of that week taught Dick patience, a quality he had always sadly lacked.
 
True to the appointment made by letter, Signor Tolomeo appeared at Durham's office and was at once shown in. He was a tall man with a keen, clever, dark face. His hair and mustache were gray and he had a military appearance. In his bearing there was great dignity, and it could be seen at a glance that he had good blood in his . It was true what Sir Simon had said. The Tolomeo family had been nobles of the Sienese Republic for many a century, and although their present-day representative was poor in pocket and played the violin for a living, yet he looked a great lord. But his dark eyes had a somewhat reckless expression in them, which showed that Tolomeo lacked what is called moral principle.
 
Durham received him politely and indicated a seat near his desk with a smile. Tolomeo, with great courtesy, bowed and sat down. Then he his large eyes on the lawyer with an inquiring air, but was too to say anything. He had been brought here on an errand, the of which he knew nothing; therefore he waited to hear what Durham had to say before he committed himself.
 
"Signor Tolomeo," said the lawyer, "you were surprised to see my advertisement?"
 
"I was indeed," replied the Italian, who excellent English. "Our last interview was not particularly pleasant."
 
"This may be still less so," rejoined Durham, dryly; "but as it concerns your nephew Bernard, perhaps you will be frank with me."
 
"Ah, poor Bernard!" said the uncle. "He is dead."
 
"No. He is alive."
 
"Gran Dio!" Tolomeo started from his seat in a somewhat manner. "What is this you say, signor?"
 
"I say that he is alive, but in hiding. I tell you this because I know you like Bernard and appreciate his kindness to you."
 
"Yes! The boy is a good boy. He has been very kind to me. Although," added Tolomeo, with a somewhat air, "I do not deserve it. Ah, signor, the want of money makes us all sad ."
 
"That depends upon ourselves," said Durham, somewhat stiffly. "No man need be a unless he likes."
 
"Money can make a good man or a bad one," insisted the Italian.
 
"I don't agree with you. But this is not what I wish to talk about, Signor Tolomeo. You are pleased that Bernard is alive."
 
"Very pleased. But I trust he will escape."
 
"Ah! Then you believe he is guilty of the crime."
 
"He—or the other one."
............