Bella looked from the astonished Durgo to the despairing Lister, and wondered what the scene meant. That the matter at issue was serious Cyril's demeanour gave her to understand. But what the matter might be she could not guess, save that it had something to do with this mysterious double who had caused all the . The negro appeared to be as puzzled as herself, and stared at the seated figure with an open mouth, scratching his woolly head meanwhile.  
"Not my master, but like my master," he muttered, staring hard, and speaking in his usual guttural manner but not in the usual negro dialect, so rude and clipped. "If you're not my master, Edwin Lister," he added, addressing himself to the young man, "who are you, sir?"
 
"Answer him, Cyril," said Bella, seeing that her lover did not speak. "Did you ever see this man before?"
 
Lister looked up, pale and hollow-eyed. "Never," he said .
 
"Did you ever meet Mr. Lister before?" Bella asked the negro.
 
"Lister! Lister!" Durgo, retreating a step. "Is this young gentleman called Lister?"
 
"Cyril Lister," said that young man.
 
"But my master had no son."
 
"I am his son. Edwin Lister is my father."
 
"Oh!" A sudden light broke over Bella's face, and she clapped her hands. "And your double?"
 
"Yes," said Cyril in low tones; "now you can guess how afraid I was to lay my suspicions before you."
 
"No," she said boldly. "Why you should be afraid I cannot guess."
 
Cyril rose slowly, laid two heavy hands on her shoulders and looked directly into her eyes. "My dear," he said in a hard voice, "can you not understand that this double was my father, who resembled me so closely that this man"—he jerked back his head towards the still staring negro—"mistook me for him."
 
"Well," said Bella, inquiringly.
 
"Well," repeated Lister, impatiently, "You thought that I had committed the murder, but now that you know the truth——"
 
Bella shook herself free and grew pale. "It was your father who struck the blow!" she said in a low, tone.
 
"Yes. And if my father killed your father, how can we marry?"
 
There was a dead silence, and the unfortunate lovers looked at one another with white faces. If Cyril's was true, a barrier had indeed been placed between them, and for the moment they saw no chance of over-leaping it. Quite of Durgo, they stared until the black man grew impatient of the silence.
 
"What does this mean?" he , looking from one to the other. "I come to find my master, Edwin Lister, and he is not here. But I find one who calls himself the son of my master, Edwin Lister." He peered into Cyril's face. "My master never told me that he had a son, and yet"—he looked again—"I believe that you are my master's son."
 
"Am I so like my father, then?" asked Cyril smiling faintly.
 
Durgo struck his huge hands together. "The same in every way," he said firmly; "figure and face and colour and walk. Even the clothes"—he ran his eyes over Cyril's grey suit—"yes, even the clothes."
 
"Oh!" It was Bella who . "Cyril, do you remember that the grey clothes worn by your father on that night aided me to make a mistake?"
 
Lister nodded. "That was a suit of mine," he said, "made for me. When my father came home from Nigeria he had no ready-made clothes, so he borrowed that suit until he could get fitted out in civilised garments. Well?"
 
Cyril addressed this last question to Durgo, who had started violently when Nigeria was mentioned.
 
"I am a Nigerian," he said in reply to the . "I was with your father at Ogrude, on the Cross River, for years. I came with him to London three months ago; but my master never said that he had a son."
 
"He had his reasons for keeping silence, no doubt," said Cyril quietly; "but I never saw you, Durgo, nor did I hear my father mention you."
 
"Yet you know my name," said the man suspiciously.
 
"Only because Miss Huxham mentioned it when you appeared just now."
 
"And I mentioned it to you before," Bella reminded him. "I told you how Durgo entered the Bleacres drawing-room and took your photograph, frame and all, from his pocket, and handed it to the girl."
 
"I thought that it was one of my master, Edwin Lister, taken when he was younger," he said simply, "but I see——"
 
"Yes! yes!" broke in Cyril impatiently. "I know what you see. I am a younger edition of my father."
 
"Yes! yes! yes!" cried Durgo, staring again. "Never did I see two so alike."
 
Bella glanced at the photograph and slipped it into her pocket. Her face was pearly white, and she the full explanation of what was to come. "We are still perplexed," she said quietly, and controlling herself with great difficulty. "You know nothing of Durgo, and he knows nothing of you. I think it will be best for us to sit down and discuss the matter quietly."
 
"I agree with you," said Cyril, dropping down . "Durgo, tell your story and then I shall tell mine. When we each know what the other knows, we may be able to arrive at some conclusion."
 
"Regarding the murder," said Bella. "Perhaps," she added hopefully, "perhaps your father did not kill mine after all."
 
"I fear he did," said Cyril heavily. "Remember what was said at the inquest about the West African knife with which the crime was committed. Nigeria is in West Africa."
 
"My master had no knife of that sort," said Durgo bluntly.
 
"Have you a description of the knife," asked Bella.
 
"I read it in the newspapers," said the negro. "When you told me of your father's death, I read the papers."
 
"You can read."
 
"I can read and write and do many things," said Durgo quietly. "I have a black skin, but my education has not been neglected."
 
"So I should think from the way in which you speak English."
 
"The taught me much, and Edwin Lister taught me the rest."
 
Cyril frowned. "I notice that you do not say 'Mister' when you speak of my father," he said .
 
"I am a chief and the son of a chief," said Durgo proudly. "And for love of your father, who saved my life, I left my tribe and came with him. I called him master as a title of honour because I loved him, so why should I not say Edwin Lister?"
 
Cyril, with the white man's superiority, objected to this familiarity, and, but that Durgo's services were necessary to the of the mystery, would have this out. As it was, he simply nodded and asked the black man to be more . Durgo sat down and complied without any argument. His manners for a negro were singularly good.
 
"There is not much to tell," he said in his guttural tones. "Edwin Lister was my friend and a trader in Nigeria, my country. He saved my life from a lion and won my . I helped him with his trading and left my tribe to do so. We heard of a treasure in the wilds of my country, and wished to fit out an expedition to find that treasure. Edwin Lister did, that is, and I was glad to do as he desired. But we required money, and it could not be had. Edwin Lister then thought of an old friend of his, Captain Huxham, who had also been in Nigeria——"
 
"My father!" cried Bella, startled.
 
"Yes, missy," said Durgo, bending his head towards her with grave respect. "He was well known in Nigeria many years ago, as he had a river steamer there. Edwin Lister then came to London with me, and afterwards came to see Captain Huxham here. That was some weeks ago, and he promised me to return. As he did not, I came down and then heard of the murder of Captain Huxham. But where is my master, Edwin Lister?" and Durgo looked from one to the other.
 
"Have you not seen him since?" asked Cyril anxiously.
 
"No." Durgo shook his head profoundly.
 
"What do you think has become of him?" asked Cyril, still white.
 
Durgo reflected. "I think," he said gravely, "that Edwin Lister killed Captain Huxham and ran away. Soon he will write to me and I can join him. Then we can return to Nigeria and hunt for the treasure."
 
"But why should Mr. Lister kill my father?" asked Bella.
 
"He wanted money," said Durgo simply. "If Captain Huxham would not give the money, Edwin Lister would kill him. It is quite simple. But I wish," added the negro wisely, "that my master had let me kill Captain Huxham."
 
"Would you have done so?" cried Bella, horrified.
 
Durgo looked up in surprise. "Oh, yes, if Edwin Lister had wished it."
 
Cyril and the girl looked at one another. Durgo was still a , in spite of the of education and , which the missionaries had given him. He would have killed Huxham as easily as he would have killed a fly. Perhaps also Edwin Lister had become de-civilised, and had acted in the same way.
 
"But what has become of my father?" asked Cyril.
 
"You do not know?" inquired Durgo politely.
 
Cyril shook his head. "I do not know," he said gloomily, "unless, as you say, he murdered Huxham to get money, and then ran away into hiding. He may be on the Continent—in Paris."
 
"In that case, I shall hear from him soon," said Durgo, rising. "When I do, I shall let you know."
 
"Come back," said Cyril, in an even tone, as Durgo was about to stalk away, "it is necessary for me to have your assistance."
 
"In what?" asked Durgo, looking over his huge shoulder.
 
"In finding my father."
 
"But if he is in Paris, I can go there."
 
"Have you the money?"
 
"I have plenty of money," said the negro with gravity. "I have my own money, so it is easy for me to search for my master."
 
"He may not be in Paris," said Cyril hastily; "that is only a guess on my part. Before searching for him over there, it will be best for you to assist me in looking for him in this district. He may be in hiding."
 
Durgo pondered, then returned to lie full-length on the grass. "I think that my master would have run further away after Captain Huxham," he said reflectively; "he is very cunning, is Edwin Lister. And, of course, he would have the money."
 
"What money?" asked Bella impatiently.
 
"The money for which he killed Captain Huxham."
 
"The sum stolen was only worth a trifle: one hundred pounds is the amount."
 
"Oh!" Durgo opened his eyes. "And my master wanted five thousand. It is a very difficult expedition right into the centre of Nigeria, and one hundred pounds is of no use. I could have lent that amount to Edwin Lister myself. Hai!"—he nursed his chin in his hand—"what you say, missy, makes me think that my master is waiting here to get the money for which he killed Captain Huxham."
 
"My aunt, Mrs. Rosamund Vand, has both the money and the estate."
 
"Then Edwin Lister will wait and see her," said Durgo gravely. "I must learn where he is hiding," and he half rose again.
 
Cyril put out one slim hand to prevent him. "Wait for one moment," he said quietly, "you must hear what I have to say, and then we can arrange what to do. Durgo, you loved my father?"
 
The negro nodded. "I would rather lose my life than see him dead."
 
Cyril looked at him . "Strange! I did not think that my father was a man to inspire such ............