“Yes; far beyond, indeed.  You carried me back to 1763, but Heaven alone knows when you will end.”

“Will you take up my case?”

“Can you doubt it?  Do you think I would throw aside the most remarkable criminal puzzle I have ever tackled?”

“Mr. Brett, I cannot find words to thank you.  If you succeed—­and you inspire me with confidence—­Helen and I will strive to merit your lifelong friendship.”

“Miss Layton knows the whole of your story, of course?”

“Yes; she and my father only.  I must inform you that I had never heard the full reason of the duel between the first Sir Alan and his nephew.  But my father knew it fairly well, and the details fitted in exactly with my vision.  I can hardly call it a dream.”

“What was the nephew’s name?”

“David Hume!”

Brett jumped up, and paced about the room.

“These coincidences defy analysis,” he exclaimed.  “Your Christian name is David.  Your surname joins both families.  Why, the thing is a romance of the wildest sort.”

“Unhappily, it has a tragic side for me.”

“Yes; the story cannot end here.  You and your fiancee have suffered.  Miss Layton must be a very estimable young lady—­one worth winning.  She will be a true and loyal wife.”

“Do you think you will be able to solve the riddle?  Someone murdered my cousin.”

“That is our only solid fact at present.  The family tradition is passing strange, but it will not serve in a court of law.  I may fail, for the first time, but I will try hard.  When can you accompany me to Stowmarket?”

The question disconcerted his eager auditor.  The young man’s countenance clouded.

“Is it necessary that I should go there?” he asked.

“Certainly.  You must throw aside all delicacy of feeling, sacrifice even your own sentiments.  That is the one locality where you don’t wish to be seen, of course?”

“It is indeed.”

“I cannot help that.  I must have the assistance of your local and family knowledge to decide the knotty points sure to arise when I begin the inquiry.  Can you start this afternoon?”

“Yes.”

“Very well.  Come and lunch with me at my club.  Then we will separate, to meet again at Liverpool Street.  Smith!  Pack my traps for a week.”

Brett was in the hall now, but he suddenly stopped his companion.

“By the way, Hume, you may like to wire to Miss Layton.  My man will send the telegram for you.”

David Hume’s barrier of proud reserve vanished from that instant.  The kindly familiarity of the barrister’s words to one who, during many weary days, suspected all men of loathing him as a murderer at large, was directed by infinite tact.

Hume held out his hand, “You are a good chap,” he said.

CHAPTER IV

THROUGH THE LIBRARY WINDOW