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Never for an instant did we suspect that he had the whole secret hidden in his own breast, that of all men he alone knew the fate of Arthur Morstan.

"We did know, however, that some mystery, some positive danger, overhung our father.

He was very fearful of going out alone, and he always employed two prize-fighters to act as porters at Pondicherry Lodge.

Williams, who drove you tonight, was one of them.

He was once lightweight champion of England.

Our father would never tell us what it was he feared, but he had a most marked aversion to men with wooden legs.

On one occasion he actually fired his revolver at a wooden-legged man, who proved to be a harmless tradesman canvassing for orders.

We had to pay a large sum to hush the matter up.

My brother and I used to think this a mere whim of my father's, but events have since led us to change our opinion.

"Early in 1882 my father received a letter from India which was a great shock to him.

He nearly fainted at the breakfast-table when he opened it, and from that day he sickened to his death.

What was in the letter we could never discover, but I could see as he held it that it was short and written in a scrawling hand.

He had suffered for years from an enlarged spleen, but he now became rapidly worse, and towards the end of April we were informed that he was beyond all hope, and that he wished to make a last communication to us.

"When we entered his room he was propped up with pillows and breathing heavily.

He besought us to lock the door and to come upon either side of the bed.

Then grasping our hands he made a remarkable statement to us in a voice which was broken as much by emotion as by pain.

I shall try and give it to you in his own very words.

" 'I have only one thing,' he said, 'which weighs upon my mind at this supreme moment.

It is my treatment of poor Morstan's orphan.

The cursed greed which has been my besetting sin through life has withheld from her the treasure, half at least of which should have been hers.

And yet I have made no use of it myself, so blind and foolish a thing is avarice.

The mere feeling of possession has been so dear to me that I could not bear to share it with another.

See that chaplet tipped with pearls beside the quinine-bottle.

Even that I could not bear to part with, although I had got it out with the design of sending it to her.

You, my sons, will give her a fair share of the Agra treasure.

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