“Suppose I tell you that the man you saw was no ghost, but real flesh and blood, a Japanese descendant of the David Hume who fought and killed the first Sir Alan in 1763, what would you say?”

“I would say, sir, that it had to be, were it ever so strange.”

“Have you ever, in gossip about family records, heard anything of the fate of the David Hume I have just mentioned.”

“Only this, sir.  My people have lived on the Highland estate longer than any Hume-Frazer of them a’.  My father remembered his grandfather sayin’ that a man who was in India wi’ Clive met Mr. Hume in Calcutta.  There was fightin’ agin’ the French, an’ Mr. Hume would neither strike a blow for King George nor draw a sword for the French, so he sailed away to the East in a Dutch ship, and he was never heard of afterwards.”

This was a most important confirmation of the theory evolved by the barrister.  For the rest, Fergusson’s reminiscences were useless.

Next morning Brett went to Somerset House to consult the will in which Margaret’s father left her L1,000 a year.  Her brother died intestate.

As he expected, the document was phrased adroitly.  It read:  “I give and bequeath to Margaret Hume-Frazer, who has elected to desert the home provided for her, the sum of—­” etc., etc.

The fact that she was, in the eyes of the law, an illegitimate child could not invalidate this bequest.  For the rest, he imagined that when her brother died so unexpectedly, no one ever dreamed of inquiring into the well-intentioned fraud perpetrated by Lady Hume-Frazer and her husband.  Margaret was unquestionably accepted as the heiress to her brother’s property, the estate being unentailed.

Then he drove to 17 St. John’s Mansions, Kensington, where Mr. and Mrs. Jiro were “at home.”  They received him in the tiny drawing-room, and the lady’s manner betokened some degree of nervousness, which she vainly endeavoured to conceal by a pretence of bland curiosity as to the object of the barrister’s visit.

Not so Numagawa, whose sharp ferret eyes snapped with anxiety.

Brett left them under no doubt from the commencement.  He addressed his remarks wholly to the Japanese.

“You have an acquaintance—­perhaps I should say a confederate—­residing at No. 37 Middle Street, Kennington—­” he began.

“I do not understand,” broke in Jiro, whose sallow face crinkled like a withered apple in the effort to display non-comprehension.

“Oh yes, you do.  The man’s name is Ooma.  He is a tall, strongly-built native of Japan.  He sent you to Ipswich to watch the trial of Mr. David Hume-Frazer for the murder of his cousin.  He got you to write the post-card to Scotland Yard on the type-writer which you disposed of the day after my visit here.  You recognised the motto of his house in the design which I showed you, and which was borne on the blade of the Ko-Katana.  For some reason which I cannot fathom, unless you are his accomplice, you made your wife dress in male attire and go to warn him that some person was on his track.  You see I know everything.”