eyes. And I thought this curious; for though my father always
maintained the reality of the relationship, there was one link
wanting to complete the pedigree. He could not make sure that
the Hon. Thomas Wilbraham Wentworth was the father of Jonathan
Wentworth, the Bristol horse-dealer, from whom we are descended.

"Where was I born?" Sir Charles interrupted, coming suddenly to his
own case.

The Seer clapped his two hands to his forehead and held it between
them, as if to prevent it from bursting. "Africa," he said slowly,
as the facts narrowed down, so to speak. "South Africa; Cape of Good
Hope; Jansenville; De Witt Street. 1840."

"By Jove, he's correct," Sir Charles muttered. "He seems really to
do it. Still, he may have found me out. He may have known where he
was coming."

"I never gave a hint," I answered; "till he reached the door, he
didn't even know to what hotel I was piloting him."

The Seer stroked his chin softly. His eye appeared to me to have a
furtive gleam in it. "Would you like me to tell you the number of
a bank-note inclosed in an envelope?" he asked casually.

"Go out of the room," Sir Charles said, "while I pass it round the
company."

Senor Herrera disappeared. Sir Charles passed it round cautiously,
holding it all the time in his own hand, but letting his guests see