'Yes. I would not speak of it to everybody; in fact, I have spoken of it
to no one; but recently, examining some documents in my muniment-room, I
made a discovery as interesting to me as it must be to you. Our
ancestors three hundred years ago--in 1600, to be exact--were fellow
conspirators.'

'Ah, the old Gowrie game, to capture the King?' asked Logan, who had once
kidnapped a cat.

His knowledge of history was mainly confined to that obscure and
unexplained affair, in which his wicked old ancestor is thought to have
had a hand.

'That is it,' said the visitor--'the Gowrie mystery! You may remember
that an unknown person, a friend of your ancestor, was engaged?'

'Yes,' said Logan; 'he was never identified. Was his name Harris?'

The peer half rose to his feet, flushed a fine purple, twiddled the
obsolete little grey tuft on his chin, and sat down again.

'I think I said, Mr. Logan, that the hitherto unidentified associate of
your ancestor was _a member of my own family_. Our name is _not_
Harris--a name very honourably borne--our family name is Guevara. My
ancestor was a cousin of the brave Lord Willoughby.'

'Most interesting! You must pardon me, but as nobody ever knew what you
have just found out, you will excuse my ignorance,' said Logan, who, to
be sure, had never heard of the brave Lord Willoughby.