“From your point of view—­perhaps not,” Lord Arranmore answered.  “You must enlarge it.”

“Will you tell me how?” Brooks demanded.

Lord Arranmore stifled a yawn.  He had the air of one wearied by a profitless discussion.

“Well,” he said, “I might certainly suggest a few things.  Who was your trustee or guardian, or your father’s man of business?

“Mr. Ascough, of Lincoln’s Inn Fields.”

“Exactly.  Your father saw him, of course, prior to his departure from England.”

“Yes.”

“Well, is it not a fact that instead of making a will your father made over by deed of gift the whole of his small income to your mother in trust for you?”

“Yes, he did that,” Brooks admitted.

Lord Arranmore shrugged his shoulders.

“Think that over,” he remarked.  “Doesn’t that suggest his already half-formed intention never to return?”

“It never struck me in that way,” Brooks answered.  “Yet it is obvious,” Lord Arranmore said.  “Now, I happen to know from your father himself that he never intended to go to Australia, and he never intended to return to England.  He sailed instead by an Allan liner from Liverpool to Quebec under the name of Francis.  He went straight to Montreal, and he stayed there until he had spent the greater part of his money.  Then he drifted out west.  There is his history for you in a few words.”

A sudden light flashed in Brooks’ eyes.

“He told you that he left England meaning never to return?  Then you have the key to the whole thing.  Why not?  That is what I want to know.  Why not?”

“I do not know,” Lord Arranmore answered, coolly.  “He never told me.”

Brooks felt a sudden chill of disappointment.  Lord Arranmore rose slowly to his feet.

“Mr. Brooks,” he said, “I have told you all that I know.  You have asked me a question which I have not been able to answer.  I can, however, give you some advice which I will guarantee to be excellent—­some advice which you will do well to follow.  Shall I go on?”

“If you please!”

“Do not seek to unravel any further what may seem to you to be the mystery of your father’s disappearance from the world.  Depend upon it, his action was of his own free will, and he had excellent reasons for it.  If he had wished you to know them he would have communicated with you.  Remember, I was with your father during his last days—­and this is my advice to you.”

Brooks pointed downward to the crumpled ball of paper.

“That letter!” he exclaimed.

Lord Arranmore shrugged his shoulders.

“I scarcely see its significance,” he said.  “It is not even my word against Lacroix’.  I sent you all your father’s papers, I brought back photographs and keepsakes known to belong to him.  In what possible way could it benefit me to mislead you?”

The telephone on Brooks’ table rang, and for a moment or two he found himself, with mechanical self-possession, attending to some unimportant question.  When he replaced the receiver Lord Arranmore had resumed his seat, but was drawing on his gloves.