suppose, and you could go up to town-when?" anxious as he asked this question.

"By the next train," answered Tom.

His tone was very

"Good boy-good boy!" said the Squire gratefully. "And you'll telegraph me, won't you? Don't wait to write, but telegraph to me." "Don't think me impertinent if I ask you to tell me the extent of your liabilities as regards the Alcazar Mining Company."

"Why-ah-I cannot tell you to a fraction. A few thousands, I But I don't see how that fact can interest you."

suppose.

Tom's long face grew still longer. "Don't you think, sir," he said, "that it might be advisable for you to empower me to sell out your stock in your behalf, should I find on inquiry to-morrow that there is the least likelihood of its sinking any lower than it is now?"

"Sell out!" exclaimed the Squire in horror. "Certainly not. What next, pray? Bird said the shares were sure to go up again, and I'll pin my faith to Bird through thick and thin.”

It was with a sad heart that Tom left Pincote. He knew something of the Alcazar Mining Company and he had no faith in its stability. He knew something of Mr. Bird, the secretary, and he had no faith in his honesty.

At

Mrs. McDermott was Squire Culpepper's only sister. She had been a widow for several years. She was perpetually travelling about, ostensibly in search of health, but really in search of change and excitement. The money about which she was writing to her brother was a sum of five thousand pounds which she had put into his hands some two or three years previously, with a request that he would invest it for her in some way, or put it to whatever use he might deem most advisable. He had managed her monetary affairs for her ever since her husband's death, and there was nothing strange in such a request. first the amount had been invested in railway debentures, which brought in a modest four per cent. But when the Alcazar shares began to rise so rapidly, it seemed to the Squire that he would have been wronging his sister had he neglected to let her participate in the wonderful golden harvest that lay so close to his hand. To have written to her on the subject would have been the merest matter of form. She would only have answered, "Don't bother me, but do as you like with the money till I want it for something else." Then what a glorious surprise it would be to her to find that her little fortune had actually trebled and quadrupled itself in so short a space of time! Nothing venture nothing win. The railway debentures were at once disposed of and Alcazar shares bought in their stead; and the Squire chuckled to himself many a time when he thought of his happy audacity in acting as he had done without consulting anyone except his friend Mr. Bird.

But in proportion to his previous exultation was the dread which now chilled his heart, that not only might his daughter's dowry be lost to her

for ever, but that his sister's money also-the savings of many years— might be sunk beyond recovery in the wreck that now seemed so close at hand. Most people under such circumstances would have telegraphed to their brokers to sell out at every risk; but there was a mixture of hopefulness and obstinacy in the Squire's disposition that made him cling to his purpose with a tenacity that would go far either to ruin him or make his fortune, as the case might be.

Tom Bristow did not reach London till long after business hours, but so anxious was he with regard to the matter which had taken him there, that he could not sit down comfortably and wait till morning before beginning his inquiries. After spending ten minutes at his hotel he took a hansom and drove off at once to the offices of the Alcazar Mining Company. The private watchman whose duty it was to look after the premises at night at once supplied him with Mr. Bird's address, and half an hour later Tom found himself in the neighbourhood of the Regent's Park. Mr. Bird's house was readily found, but Mr. Bird himself was not at home, as a rough-looking man with a short pipe in his mouth who, somewhat to Tom's surprise, answered his impatient knock, at once told him.

"Where is Mr. Bird, and when can I see him?" asked Tom.

"As to where he is-I should say that by this time he's some hundreds of miles on his way to America or Australia. As to when you can see him—why, you can see him when you can catch him and not before."

"Then he's gone?" said Tom incredulously.

"Yes, sir, he's gone. The nest's empty and the bird's flown," added the man with a grin at his own witticism; "and the whole blessed concern has gone to smash."

"And the Squire will expect a telegram from me to-night!" muttered Tom.

CHAPTER XXVI.

FOOTSTEPS IN THE ROOM.

DURING the few months that elapsed between the murder of Percy Osmond and the arrival of General St. George in England, Park Newton had been shut up, Pearce, the old family butler, being left as custodian of the house. Of the former establishment he was allowed to retain his niece, Miss Piper, who had been still-room maid, and Finch, formerly a footman, but afterwards promoted to be Mr. Dering's body-servant; together with a woman or two to do the rough work of the house.

When the General fixed his home at Park Newton these people were all retained in their places, but their numbers were augmented b

eight or ten more. All his life the General had been used to be waited upon by a number of people, and he could not quite get out of the way of it even in England.

On a certain wintry evening early in the new year, Finch and Miss Piper were sitting in the drawing-room toasting their toes before a seasonable fire. Between them was a small table on which stood a decanter of Madeira and two glasses, together with a dish of apples, nuts, and oranges. The family had gone out to dinner, and would not be home till late; Mr. Pearce had driven into Duxley to pay the tradesmen's accounts, and for the time being Mr. Finch and his fair companion commanded the situation.

Mr.

Miss Piper wore a dress of rustling plum-coloured silk. At her elbow was a smelling-bottle and a lace-edged handkerchief. Finch, with one of General St. George's snuff-boxes by his side, was lounging in his easy chair, with all the graceful nonchalance of an old club-man who has just partaken of an excellent dinner.

"This Madeira is not so bad," he said condescendingly, as he swallowed his third glass at a gulp with the gusto of a connaisseur. "Miss Piper," refilling his glass, "I look towards you. Here's your very good health. May you live long and die happy.”

"Oh, Mr. Finch, deeply gratified, I'm sure."

"I must have fallen into a doze just now, because I never heard you when you opened the door, and was quite startled when I saw you standing beside me. But then you always do go about the house more quietly than anybody else-except the ghost himself."

Miss Piper glanced round with a shudder, and hitched her chair a little nearer the fire and Mr. Finch. "But surely, Mr. Finch," she said, "you are not one of those who believe that Park Newton is haunted? Uncle Pearce says that he never heard of such rubbish in the whole course of his life."

"Can a man doubt the evidence of his own senses, ma'am? I have lived in too many good families to have any imagination: I am matter-of-fact to the back-bone. Such being the case, what then? Why simply this, Miss Piper: that I know for a fact this house is haunted. Haven't I heard noises myself?"

"Gracious goodness! What kind of noises, Mr. Finch ?"

'Why—er—rumblings and grumblings, and-er-moanings and scratchings. And haven't I woke up in the middle of the night, and sat up in bed, and listened and heard strange noises that couldn't be made by anything mortal? And then in the dusk of evening, haven't I seen the curtains move, and heard feet come pitter-pattering down the stairs; and far-away doors clash in the dark as if shut by ghostly hands? Dreadful, I assure you."

"You make me feel quite nervous!" cried Miss Piper, edging an inch nearer.

"The old clock on the second landing has never kept right time since the night of the murder. And didn't Mary Ryan swear that she saw Mr. Percy Osmond coming downstairs one evening, in his blood-stained shirt?-asking your pardon, Miss Piper, for mentioning such a garment before a lądy. These are facts that can't be got over. But there's worse to follow."

"Whatever do you mean, Mr. Finch?”

"At first the house was haunted by one ghost, but now they do say there's two of them."

"Oh, lor! Two! And whose is the second one?"

'Why, whose ghost should it be but that of our late master, Mr. Lionel Dering? Five servants have left in six weeks, and I shall give warning next Saturday."

66

My nerves are turning to jelly," returned Miss Piper. “Oh, Mr. Finch, we should be dull indeed at Park Newton if you were to go away!"

"Then why not go with me and make my life one long happiness? You know my feelings, you know that I

"No more of that, Mr. Finch, if you please. I know your feelings,

and you know my sentiments. Nothing can ever change them.

don't let us talk any more nonsense.

ghosts."

But

I want you to tell me about the

"I don't know that I've much more to tell," said Finch, in a mortified tone.

"But about Mr. Dering-Mr. Lionel, I mean? Which of the servants was it that saw his ghost?"

"I am unable to give you any details, Miss Piper, as I never condescend to listen to the gossip of my inferiors; but I believe it to be the general talk in the servants' hall that the ghost of Mr. Lionel has been seen three or four times slowly pacing the big corridor by moonlight."

"How were the idiots to know that it was Mr. Lionel Dering? asked Piper with a toss of the head. "Not one of them ever saw him when he was alive."

"Yes, Jane Minnows saw him in court during the trial, and she knew the ghost the moment she saw it."

"But then Jane Minnows was a terrible storyteller and just as likely as not to invent all about the ghost simply to get herself talked about. But tell me, Mr. Finch, have you not noticed the remarkable likeness that exists between Mr. Richard Dering and his poor brother?"

"As a gentlema n of discernment, Miss Piper, I have noticed the likeness of which you speak. He has the very same nose, the very same hands, the very same way of sitting in his chair. And then the voice! I give you my word of honour that when Mr. Richard yesterday called out rather suddenly 'Finch,' you might have knocked me

down with a cork. It sounded for all the world as if my poor master had come back from the grave, and had called to me just as he used to do."

"You are not one of those, Mr. Finch, who believed in the guilt of Mr. Dering?"

"I never did believe in it and I never will to the last day of my life,” said Finch sturdily. "No one, who knew Mr. Lionel as I knew him, could harbour such a thought for a single moment."

"Uncle Pearce says exactly the same as you say. 'No power on earth could make me believe it.' Them's his very words. But I say, Mr. Finch, isn't the old General a darling?"

"Yes, Miss Piper, I approve of the General-I approve of him very much indeed. But Mr. Kester St. George is a sort of person whom I would never condescend to engage as my employer. I don't like that gentleman. It seems a strange thing to say, but he has never looked his proper self since the night of the murder. His man tells me that he has to drench himself with brandy every morning before he can dress himself. Who knows? Perhaps it's the ghosts. They're enough to turn any man's brain."

"I know that I shouldn't like to go after dark anywhere near where the murder was done," said Miss Piper. "It's a good job they have nailed the door up. There's no getting either in or out of the room

now."

"And yet they do say," remarked Finch, "that on the eighteenth of every month-you know the murder was done on the eighteenth of May a little before midnight, footsteps can be heard the noise of someone walking about in the nailed-up room. You, as the niece of Mr. Pearce, have not been told this, but it has been known to me all along."

"But you don't believe it, Mr. Finch ?"

"Well I don't know so much about that," answered Finch, dubiously. "You see it was on account of them footsteps that Sims and Baker left last month. They had been told about the footsteps, and they made up their minds to go and hear them. They did hear them and they gave warning next day. They told Mr. Pearce that the place wasn't lively enough for them. But it was the footsteps tha drove them away."

"After what you have told me I shall be frightened of moving out of my own room after dusk. Listen!" cried Miss Piper, jumping up in alarm. "That's uncle's ring at the side bell. He must have go

back before his time."

It was as Finch had stated. Kester St. George was staying as his uncle's guest, at Park Newton. The General's letter found him at Paris, where he had been living of late almost en permanence. couched in such a style that he saw clearly if he were to refuse the

It was