confidant of me, and, with the Baroness de Sturm, I left at once for London, and saw this man. I very soon persuaded myself that he had the letters and that he knew their value. He asked a sum for them which it was utterly unable for us to pay."
"Did he explain," Duncan asked, "how they came into his hands?"
"He said that they were picked up on the battlefield of Colenso at first," the Baron declared. "Afterwards he was brutally frank. You see your death was gazetted, a fact of which he was no doubt aware. He admitted that they had been given to him to destroy."
Duncan leaned across the table.
"Baron," he said, "who killed that man? He cheated me of my task, but I should like to know who it was."
"So would a great many more of us," the Baron answered. "The fact is, we are in the curious position of having an unknown friend."
"An unknown friend?" Duncan repeated.
The Baron nodded.
"We paid that man two thousand a year," he said, "but he was not satisfied. He communicated secretly with the other side, and they agreed to buy the letters for ten thousand pounds. We knew the very night when he had arranged to hand them over to a man named Bentham in London. But we were powerless. We could not have found the half of ten thousand pounds. One thing only was tried, and that very nearly ended in disaster. An attempt was made to steal the letters. Mr. Wrayson will tell you about that—presently."
A maître d'hôtel paused at their table to hope that messieurs were well served. In a season so busy it was
