authorities, and to examine their private entries of suspected persons in their jurisdiction, ranging back over a past period of twenty years or more.  One of the entries thus consulted contained these particulars:  ’Hector Auguste Monbrun, son of a respectable proprietor in Normandy.  Well educated; gentleman-like manners.  On bad terms with his family.  Character:  bold, cunning, unscrupulous, self-possessed.  Is a clever mimic.  May be easily recognized by his striking likeness to the Baron Franval.  Imprisoned at twenty for theft and assault.’”

Miss Welwyn saw the agent look up at her after he had read this extract from the police-book, to ascertain if she was still able to listen to him.  He asked, with some appearance of alarm, as their eyes met, if she would like some more water.  She was just able to make a sign in the negative.  He took a second extract from his pocket-book, and went on.

He said:  “The next entry under the same name was dated four years later, and ran thus, ’H.  A. Monbrun, condemned to the galleys for life, for assassination, and other crimes not officially necessary to be here specified.  Escaped from custody at Toulon.  Is known, since the expiration of his first term of imprisonment, to have allowed his beard to grow, and to have worn his hair long, with the intention of rendering it impossible for those acquainted with him in his native province to recognize him, as heretofore, by his likeness to the Baron Franval.’  There were more particulars added, not important enough for extract.  We immediately examined the supposed impostor; for, if he was Monbrun, we knew that we should find on his shoulder the two letters of the convict brand, ‘T.  F.,’ standing for Travaux Forces.  After the minutest examination with the mechanical and chemical tests used on such occasions, not the slightest trace of the brand was to be found.  The moment this astounding discovery was made, I started to lay an embargo on the forthcoming numbers of the Havre Journal for that week, which were about to be sent to the English agent in London.  I arrived at Havre on Saturday (the morning of publication), in time to execute my design.  I waited there long enough to communicate by telegraph with my superiors in Paris, then hastened to this place.  What my errand here is, you may—­”

He might have gone on speaking for some moments longer; but Miss Welwyn heard no more.

Her first sensation of returning consciousness was the feeling that water was being sprinkled on her face.  Then she saw that all the windows in the room had been set wide open, to give her air; and that she and the agent were still alone.  At first she felt bewildered, and hardly knew who he was; but he soon recalled to her mind the horrible realities that had brought him there, by apologizing for not having summoned assistance when she fainted.  He said it was of the last importance, in Franval’s absence, that no one in the house should imagine that