Dericka returned to the cheerful breakfast-room with the letter in her hand. She could scarcely believe her eyes. That Sir Hannibal should be so near home as in a tin mine on the moors was extraordinary indeed. She had thought of him hiding in London, or as having gone abroad to escape arrest; but never did she suspect for one moment that he was in the neighbourhood of St. Ewalds. It seemed rash.

Miss Lavinia, prim, and stately as ever, entered to find her niece considerably perturbed, and was speedily made acquainted with the contents of the missive brought by the idiot. She was scarcely so surprised as the girl.

‘It is just the kind of silly thing Hannibal would do,’ was her comment. ‘A wise man would have gone abroad until such time as things had settled down; but Hannibal must needs run his head into the lion’s mouth. I have no patience with the man.’

Dericka reflected. ‘After all, Aunty, papa may not be as silly as you think. He could not leave England, as, after the warrant was issued, all the ports would be watched. If he remained in London you may be certain that search would be made for him there. To come back here is the last thing the detective expected.’

‘I think not,’ corrected Miss Quinton in a chilly voice, ‘seeing that Arkle came to make enquiries.’

‘Well, then, Mr. Arkle can be certain that papa is not here, so will return to town. But I think papa is wise to hide in one of those old mining shafts; no one will look for him there.’

‘Oh, yes, one would,’ said Miss Lavinia, obstinately; ‘if Arkle guessed that Hannibal had returned to Cornwall a mining shaft would be the first place he would search.’

‘He would have his work cut out for him, then,’ said Dericka coolly, ‘as there are dozens of those abandoned mines.’

‘And how do you know the right one? Is it here?’ Miss Lavinia tapped the letter with her lorgnette.

‘No, Aunty, papa has not given away the place of his refuge even to me. But Morgan Bowring received the letter from Anak, and I expect Anak will guide us to the place.’

‘In that case,’ said the spinster, moving towards the fire, ‘there is no need to keep such an incriminating letter.’ She dropped it into the heart of the burning coals and sat down at the breakfast table. ‘Come my dear, eat and drink; you must keep up your strength.’

‘I have no appetite,’ replied Dericka, sitting down to pour out the coffee with a sigh.

Miss Lavinia passed her a plate of eggs and bacon with a severe look.

‘My dear girl, you have no faith. Since Providence has helped my poor brother-inlaw so far, Providence will save him yet. Providence,’ added Miss Quinton, with uncomplimentary fervour, ‘watches over drunken men, fools and bairns. I need hardly mention which of those your father is, my dear child.’

‘Then you think that he is innocent?’ asked Dericka, beginning to eat.

‘Yes and no. I have made up my mind once or twice, and have unmade it three or four times. Let us wait and see. What do you intend to do, Dericka?’

‘I’ll tell Oswald about that letter, and walk with him to Anak’s hut. Then we will see papa.’

This arrangement having been made, the girl ate a good meal in spite of her anxiety, recognising Miss Quinton’s good sense in advising her to take things quietly. Within half an hour Forde entered the room, and to him Miss Trevick related her experience with Morgan Bowring. Forde was extremely astonished, but rubbed his hands, well pleased at what he had been told.

‘Now,’ said Oswald, nodding, ‘we shall hear the truth.’

‘From Hannibal?’ scoffed Miss Lavinia; ‘what an unlikely person to trust. Hannibal will tell as much as will suit him.’

‘He’ll have to tell the whole, then,’ said the young barrister, somewhat grimly; ‘that is, if he wants to save his skin.’

Miss Quinton nodded severely and took up her knitting, while Dericka went to her room to dress for the walk to the moors. When she had gone the spinster lifted her hard eyes enquiringly and mutely questioned the barrister as to his plans. Having none for the moment, he did not explain himself, but merely walked to the fire, saying: ‘I wish the letter had been kept, so that I could have seen it.’

‘There was nothing in it but what you know, Mr. Forde. And it is not wise to keep such a document in a house which may at any time be raided by detectives.’

‘I don’t think there is any chance of that. Arkle is satisfied.’

‘He must be a fool, then,’ said Miss Lavinia, jerking his chin in the air and knitting with redoubled vigour.

‘Let us hope that he is for Sir Hannibal’s sake,’ said Forde dryly.

While they were talking Dericka, hatted and cloaked, came into the room looking remarkably pretty, if somewhat anxious. Behind her appeared another woman, quietly dressed and with a scared face, pale and sweet, although somewhat doll-like.

‘Aunty! Oswald!’ said Miss Trevick, stepping aside to introduce the stranger, ‘this is Mrs. Bowring, who has come to tell us something.’

‘No! No! Really, Miss Trevick,’ protested Jenny, looking more scared than ever; ‘I really came to see what has become of Morgan. He got out of the house last night,’ she went on, addressing all three impartially, ‘and, having searched the moors, I met Anak, who told me that he had come on here with a letter to Miss Trevick.’

‘He did come, as I explained,’ replied Dericka, ‘but he went away over an hour ago, and I thought that he had gone home.’

‘He has not arrived yet,’ said Mrs. Bowring anxiously, ‘and I came by the direct road.’

‘Probably an idiot like that would go by the second road, which is the longer,’ suggested Miss Quinton; ‘people of weak intellect always do exactly the opposite to what sane folk do.’

Jenny sank into a seat and clasped her hands, looking weary and worn and tired out with worry. Dericka glanced at her for a moment, then left the room to return with a glass of port wine which she made her drink.

‘You must keep up your strength,’ said Dericka, boldly plagiarising from her aunt.

‘Thank you, Miss Trevick; how good you are. Oh, I’ll do what I can to help you,’ cried the poor, tired-looking doll.

‘Do what?’ questioned Miss Quinton sharply. Before Jenny could reply Forde intervened.

‘One moment,’ he said, anxious to settle a question which had been in his mind since Jenny had mentioned about her meeting with Anak; ‘did that man, Hugh Carney, tell you what was in the letter he gave your husband?’

‘Oh, no; how could he, sir? Anak did not know himself. He would not open a letter which belonged to Miss Stretton.’

Forde stepped back a pace in his surprise. ‘Miss Stretton!’

‘Yes. Anak said that she dropped this letter, which was directed to you, Miss Trevick, on the floor of his mother’s hut. He ran after her to return it, but Miss Stretton had vanished. Anak therefore gave it to Morgan, whom he met on the moors. You see,’ added Mrs. Bowring apologetically, ‘Anak could not leave the quarries himself, as he is the foreman, and has to start the men to work.’

Forde turned away, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. This explanation showed him that Anak was still the enemy of Sir Hannibal, and that Miss Stretton was the sole person cognisant of the baronet’s hidingplace.

While he reflected how he could meet her and have a chat, Dericka was talking to Mrs. Bowring, whose white face had now more colour in it, thanks to the generous vintage.

‘What is it you wanted to tell me?’ she asked softly.

‘You won’t tell mother that I told you?’ entreated Mrs. Bowring, looking somewhat fearful; ‘she would never forgive me. But that man is such a trial to mother that she cannot fight him singlehanded. I know that you are clever, Miss Trevick, so I thought that you might help mother; and of course,’ added the doll with emphasis, ‘it will help your father also.’

Forde wheeled round.

‘What’s that?’ he asked sharply.

‘I crept downstairs when mother was talking to the man,’ said Mrs. Bowring, feverishly, ‘and I heard nearly all they were saying.’

‘Who is the man?’

‘Mr. Polwin — but that is not his real name.’

‘Humph!’ Forde rubbed his chin again and recalled the meek little steward. ‘And what is his name, Mrs. Bowring?’

‘Samuel Krent. He is my mother’s husband.’

‘What!’ ejaculated Dericka, ‘your father?’

‘Oh, no, no, how can you think so? My father was called Ward. Mr. Krent is my mother’s second husband. He is a wicked man, and she is very much afraid of him. Had she known that he was here she would have run away miles and miles.’

‘What, that sheep dangerous?’ murmured Dericka.

‘He isn’t a sheep, Miss Trevick, but a very terrible man. He bullied mother last night and struck her and pinched her. Oh, don’t tell Mr. Polwin that I listened,’ said Mrs. Bowring, piteously, ‘or he will hurt me. He will indeed; you don’t know what a terrible man he is.’

‘If he’s the biggest blackguard in England I’m equal to him,’ said the barrister quickly and grimly. ‘Go on, Mrs. Bowring, tell me all that you overhead and then we’ll send for Mr. Polwin.’

The little woman sprang up and clutched Forde’s arm. ‘You mustn’t do that,’ she panted, much terrified; ‘if you tell him I’ll say nothing.’

‘But I think —’ began Dericka, only to be cut short by her aunt.

‘Mrs. Bowring is perfectly right,’ said that oracle; ‘if Polwin, or Krent, or whatever he calls himself, is dangerous, it would be folly to put him on his guard by letting him see that he is suspected.’

Forde nodded.

‘I agree!’ He went to the door and closed it carefully, then returned and placed a chair for Mrs. Bowring in the midst of the room, beckoning to Miss Lavinia and Dericka to likewise draw their chairs up to the doll. Then he seated himself at her ear and leaned forward. ‘Tell us all, in a whisper.’

Mrs. Bowring cast a terrified glance round the apartment, then — in a whisper, as she had been advised — related nearly the entire conversation which her mother had held with Polwin on the previous night.

Miss Quinton’s face grew more and more severe as she heard about her brother-inlaw’s African life, and Ford............