drove past the window. "Anything Elsie could get for you? If so,
please say so."

I hesitated a moment.

"Do you think," I asked at last, for I didn't want to be
troublesome, "she could get me a lemon?"

"Oh, certainly," Jack answered; "there she goes in the buggy! Here,
wait a moment, Una! I'll run after her to the gate this minute and
tell her."

He sprang lightly on to the parapet of the verandah. Then, with one
hand held behind him to poise himself, palm open backward, he leapt
with a bound to the road, and darted after her hurriedly.

My heart stood still within me. That action revealed him. The back,
the open hand, the gesture, the bend--I would have known them
anywhere. With a horrible revulsion I recognised the truth. This was
my father's murderer! This was Courtenay Ivor!






CHAPTER XVIII.

MURDER WILL OUT