Allerdyke felt--felt intensely--that there was something deeply strange
in all this, and yet it was beyond him, with his limited knowledge, to
account for James's sudden death, except on the hypothesis suggested by
the two doctors. All sorts of vague, half-formed thoughts were in his
mind. Was there any person who desired James's death? Had any one tracked
him to this place--got rid of him by some subtle means? Had--

"Pshaw!" he muttered, suddenly interrupting his train of thought, and
recognizing how shapeless and futile it all was. "It just comes to
this--I'm asking myself if the poor lad was murdered! And what have I to
go on? Naught--naught at all!"

Nevertheless, there were papers before him which had been taken from
James's pocket; there was the little journal or diary which he always
carried, and in which, to Allerdyke's knowledge, he always jotted down
a brief note of each day's proceedings wherever he went. He could
examine these, at any rate--they might cast some light on his cousin's
recent doings.

He began with the diary, turning over its pages until he came to the date
on which James had left Bradford for St. Petersburg. That was on March
30th. He had travelled to the Russian capital overland--by way of Berlin
and Vilna, at each of which places he had evidently broken his journey.
From St. Petersburg he had gone on to Moscow, where he had spent the
better part of a week. All his movements were clearly set out in the
brief pencilled entries in the journal. From Moscow he had returned to
St. Petersburg; there he had stayed a fortnight; thence he had journeyed
to Revel, from Revel he had crossed the Baltic to Stockholm; from
Stockholm he had gone across country to Christiania. And from Christiania