The arrest of Sir Bernard made a great sensation. It was generally supposed that he was dead, and his unexpected appearance surprised every one. Also, as he was believed to be guilty, the public was amazed that he should thus thrust himself into . But more thoughtful people saw in Gore's surrender a proof of his , and argued very rightly that were he guilty of the murder of Sir Simon, he would not come forward as he had done to stand his trial.  
An additional surprise came in the arrest of Michael, who was said to be the half-brother of Gore, and to resemble him very closely. A got about—no one knew how—that this resemblance between the two would be made the basis of the defence. Also, the boy, Jerry Moon, who was in the matter, was in charge of the police, and it was expected that he would make startling revelations. On the whole, there was every chance that the forthcoming trial would be extremely interesting. Every one looked forward with great expectation to the time when Sir Bernard would be placed in the dock. , in charge of the case, was now attending to the matter again. He said very little, although the reporters tried to make him give his opinion. But, from the few words he let drop, it would seem that he believed firmly in the innocence of the accused man.
 
"I don't see anything about Beryl in the papers," said Conniston, when at Durham's office.
 
"There is nothing to say about him at present," replied the lawyer. "We have not caught him yet, and perhaps never may."
 
"Victoria warned him, then?"
 
"Yes. That of a boy wrote a letter stating that Bernard was at Castle, and advising flight. Victoria caught a train shortly before eleven and came straight to Beryl's rooms, the address of which she received from Jerry. Beryl—as Jerry had done—saw that the game was up, and realized that we, knowing Gore to be alive, had been simply playing with the of Michael. He bolted that same night and managed to cross to the Continent. At least, we suppose so, as no trace of him can be found."
 
"What will you do about him, then?"
 
Durham his shoulders. "There is nothing can be done," he answered. "With the evidence of Michael, Jerry and Miss Randolph and Tolomeo, we shall be able to prove Bernard's innocence and his cousin's . Bernard will be set free without a stain on his character. But as to how Beryl will be arrested, or whether he will ever be punished, I am unable to give an opinion."
 
"What about Mrs. Gilroy?"
 
"Ah, we want her. But we cannot find out where she is. Even her son doesn't know. He would speak out if he did know, as I fancy he is sincerely for the trouble this new edition of the Corsican Brothers has caused."
 
"But had you not some plan to Mrs. Gilroy out of her hiding?"
 
Durham searched amongst his papers and produced a journal. "Read that," said he, pointing to a column.
 
It was an article with the case, in which the writer hinted that Michael was guilty and Bernard innocent. It was also stated that Michael would certainly be put in the dock, and that sufficient evidence was in the power of the to his . The whole article was written strongly, and after reading it, Conniston, had he not known the true facts of the case, would have fancied Michael guilty. He said as much. Durham smiled.
 
"That is exactly the feeling I wish to convey to Mrs. Gilroy," he declared, taking back the paper. "She, if any one, can prove the guilt of Beryl, but for some reason—perhaps for money—she is hiding. If she reads that paragraph she will at once come forward to save her son, and then we'll be able to prove Beryl's guilt beyond a doubt."
 
"But she may not take in the particular journal," said Conniston.
 
"Oh, this is only one paper. Within the next few days that article will be copied in every newspaper in London. Mrs. Gilroy is bound, wherever she is, to hear of the arrest of her son, and of Bernard giving himself up. To learn what is taking place she will read whatever papers she can get hold of. Then she will see that article, and if it doesn't bring her forward to save Michael and Beryl, I am very much mistaken."
 
"It sounds rather like contempt of court," said Dick, gravely.
 
Durham laughed. "It is, in a way. Every man has a right to be considered innocent in English law until his guilt is proved. But I arranged with Scotland Yard that this article should appear in the hope that Mrs. Gilroy—an important witness, mind you—should be brought forward. I can't exactly tell you all the details, but you may be sure that the thing has been done legally. Besides," argued Durham, calmly, "seeing we have such a strong proof of Beryl's guilt, there is no doubt that Michael will have a fair trial."
 
"I say," said Conniston, rising to take his leave, "do you know it's Bernard's idea that Jerry might have committed the crime. It seems to me that Beryl is too great a coward to do it himself."
 
"Stuff!" said Durham, quite in the style of Miss Berengaria. "The boy could not have possibly strangled the old man. He was leading Bernard to the Square to within a few minutes of the time when Mrs. Gilroy came out shouting murder. No, Conniston, Beryl is the man, as is proved by his handkerchief. He came to the house immediately Tolomeo left, since he passed that man in the Square. The boy saw him departing, after Bernard was to be on the spot. Beryl was hurrying back to the theatre to arrange for his . Everything was beautifully arranged. But for the discovery of Michael, we might have learned nothing. Also Tolomeo's evidence is valuable. Mrs. Gilroy, having been in the house at the time, is the woman who knows all. Doubtless Beryl threatened to denounce her son, and that was why she accused Bernard, counting on the resemblance to carry the matter through."
 
"What an infernally wicked woman!" said Dick, angrily.
 
"Oh! not at all. Mrs. Gilroy is a mother, and she naturally would sacrifice the whole world to save her son. Besides, she may have acted on the spur of the moment, and then had to go on with the matter."
 
"Well," said Conniston, putting on his hat, "I sincerely hope your net will capture her."
 
"It is sure to. A woman who would try and save her son by accusing an innocent man would not remain quiet to see him hanged. By the way, Miss Berengaria is in town, I believe?"
 
"Yes, with Miss Randolph and Alice. They are stopping at the Waterloo Hotel, Guelph Street. I believe they expect you along to dinner this evening."
 
Durham nodded. "I received a note from the old lady, and intend to come. By the way, Dick, I hope you are fascinating her. Remember, she can leave you five thousand a year, and can't last much longer."
 
"I believe Miss Berengaria will see her century," said Dick. "Besides, now you have my affairs in order, I have enough to live on."
 
"But not enough to marry on," said Durham, significantly.
 
Conniston flushed. "If you speak of Lucy," he said, "she has a little money of her own, and our two incomes will keep us alive."
 
"It won't keep up the dignity of the title."
 
"Oh, the deuce take the dignity of that," said Conniston, carelessly. "In this democratic age who cares for titles?"
 
"The Americans, Dick. You ought to marry one."
 
"I'll marry Lucy, who is the sweetest girl in the world," said Dick, firmly. "We understand one another, and as soon as this business is over, Mark——"
 
"You will marry."
 
"No. Bernard and I will go out to the Front."
 
"What! Does Bernard say that?"
 
"Yes. He intends to go back to his Imperial Yeomanry uniform, and I honor him for it," said Dick, with some heat. "Bernard is not the man to out of doing his duty. And Miss Malleson approves. I go out to the Front also, and daresay I shall manage to get a place of sorts, from which to take pot-shots at the enemy."
 
"But, my dear fellow," said Durham, much disturbed, "you may be killed."
 
"' was never in danger,'" said Conniston, opening the door. "You get Bernard out of this scrape, Mark, and then come and see us start. We'll return covered with glory."
 
"And without legs or arms," said Durham, crossly. "Just as if Bernard hadn't enough danger, he must needs run his head into more. Go away, Dick. It's your feather brain that has made him stick to his guns."
 
"Not a bit," retorted Conniston, slipping out, "it's Bernard's own idea. Good-bye, Mark. I hope you will recover your temper by the time we meet at Aunt Berengaria's table."
 
Things fell out as Durham . The article was published in all the London and country journals, and provoked both praise and blame. Many said that it was wrong to hint that a man was guilty before he had been tried. Others to the sufferings that the innocent Bernard Gore had undergone, and insisted that even before the trial his name should be cleared. Those in authority took no notice of the storm thus raised, which seemed to confirm Durham's statement that the article had been inspired from high legal quarters. But the result of the publication and discussion of the matter was that one day a woman came to see Durham at his office.
 
The moment she entered he guessed who she was, even although she was veiled. Clothed from head to foot in black, and looking enough for a , poor soul, for certainly she had cause, Mrs. Gilroy raised her veil and examined the keen face of the lawyer.
 
"You did not expect to see me?" she asked, taking the seat he pointed to silently.
 
Durham was not going to tell her that the article had been published to draw her , as she might have taken flight and suspected a trap.
 
"It is a surprise," he said artfully. "And I am at a loss to understand why you have come."
 
"To save my son," said Mrs. Gilroy, looking at him with haggard eyes.
 
"Michael Gilroy?"
 
"Michael Gore. He has a right to his father's name."
 
"Pardon me, I think not. Bernard Gore is the heir."
 
"Ah!" said the woman, bitterly, and clasping her hands with a swift, nervous gesture. "He has all the luck—the title—the money—the——"
 
"You must admit," said Durham, politely, "that he had had very bad luck for the most part."
 
"His own foolishness is the cause of it."
 
"Did you come to tell me this?"
 
Mrs. Gilroy sat quite still for a moment, and Durham noticed that even what good looks she had were gone. Her cheeks were fallen in, her eyes were sunken,her drab hair was with white, and her face wore a terrible expression of despair and sorrow. "I have come to tell you all I know," she said. "I would not do so, save for two things. One is, that I wish to save my son, who is absolutely innocent; the other, that I am dying."
 
"Dying? I hope not."
 
"I am dying," said Mrs. Gilroy, firmly. "I have suffered for many years from an disease—it doesn't matter what. But I cannot live long, and, but for my son, I should have ended my life long ago, owing to the pain I suffer. Oh the pain—the pain—the pain!" she moaned, rocking to and fro as Michael had done.
 
Durham was sincerely sorry for her, although he knew she was not a good woman. "Let me get you some brandy," he said.
 
"No," replied Mrs. Gilroy, waving her hand. "Call in some clerk who can take down what I have to say. I will probably speak quickly, as my strength will not last long. I have come from an hospital to see you. Get a clerk who writes rapidly, and be quick."
 
Durham called in a clerk and gave the order, then turned to his client. "Was it on account of going to the hospital that you left Gore Hall?" he asked.
 
Mrs. Gilroy, still rocking, bowed her head. "Did you want me?" she asked.
 
"I wanted to tell you that Michael came to Miss Berengaria's to——"
 
"Michael. He came there. Why?"
 
"To pass himself off as Bernard."
 
"Ah, that was part of Beryl's scheme to get the money."
 
"Was it part of his scheme to poison Michael?" said Durham.
 
Mrs. Gilroy started to her feet, flushed with anger.
 
"Did he do that, Mr. Durham?" she asked. "Did he dare to——"
 
"Yes. He got Michael to sign a will as Bernard, leaving all the money to him, and then employed Jerry to poison him. Jerry should not have done so for two or three days, but he was eager to get away, as he was afraid of being found out, so he poisoned your son within a few hours of the signing of the false will."
 
"The !" said Mrs. Gilroy, thinking of Beryl. "But he shall not escape. I have come to tell you all. I wish I could see him hanged. He is the cause of all the trouble. I saw in the papers that Sir Bernard was alive," she added; "how did he escape?"
 
"He swam across the river and went down to Cove Castle. We knew all the time he was there in hiding."
 
"Who knew?"
 
"Myself, Lord Conniston, Miss Berengaria and Miss Malleson."
 
"So you played with Michael?" said Mrs. Gilroy, drawing a breath.
 
"Yes. Miss Malleson and Miss Plantagenet both knew he was not the true Bernard. Your hint about your son being like his father showed me who Michael was, and I told the others. Yes, Mrs. Gilroy, I allowed Michael to sign the false will, so as to trap Beryl. But, believe me, had I known Beryl intended to poison your son, I should not have allowed the matter to go so far."
 
"You could do nothing else," said Mrs. Gilroy, sadly. "Both Michael and myself have suffered. I was deceived by a false marriage, and the sins of the father have been visited on the child."
 
"That is true enough," said Durham. "But for the sin of Walter Gore, Mic............