"Vane clutched the arm of young Bordine, and glared furiously into his
face.

"Calm yourself, my dear Ransom," urged the engineer. "You are beside
yourself now. I had no quarrel with Victoria. In fact, we were the best
of friends, and I parted from her this morning on the best of terms. I--"

"But this letter?" demanded Vane, fiercely.

"I know no more about it than you do, Ransom. I found it there on the
porch."

"But it is yours?--you wrote it?"

"No; a thousand times no," articulated August Bordine, in a convincing
tone.

Ransom Vane groaned and reeled against a post, the letter falling from
his nerveless hand to the ground.

For some moments not a word passed between the two. Both were evidently
thinking.

The thoughts of Bordine were not pleasant ones. He remembered the tramp
who had that morning made himself so disagreeable to Victoria. It must be
that he was the author of this horrible crime.

Another figure too came up before the vision of the young engineer, the
man on horseback who sat with lifted hat, bowing to Victoria Vane, just