gravely. "And we'd like to do something toward finding the man who killed
him. For we don't think it was this young fellow who's charged with it,
nor that robbery was the motive. We think John Ashton was--removed. Put
out of the way!"

"Why, now?" asked Mr. Pawle.

"I'll tell you," replied Fosdick. "My friend Stephens, here, is a man of
few words; he credits me with more talkativeness than he'll lay claim
to. So I'm to tell the tale. There mayn't be much in it, and there may be
a lot. We think there's a big lot! But this is what it comes to: Ashton
was a close man, a reserved man. However, one night, when the three of us
were having a quiet cigar in a corner of the smoking saloon in the
_Maraquibo_, he opened out to us a bit. We'd been talking about getting
over to England--we'd all three emigrated, you'll understand, when we
were very young--and the talk ran on what we'd do. Fosdick and Stephens,
d'ye see, were only on a visit,--which is just coming to an end, Mr.
Pawle; we sail home in a day or two,--but Ashton was turning home for
good. And he said to us, in a sort of burst of confidence, that he'd have
plenty to do when he landed. He said that he was in possession--sole
possession--of a most extraordinary secret, the revelation of which would
affect one of the first families in England, and he was going to bring it
out as soon as he'd got settled down in London. Well--you may be
surprised, but--that's all."

"All you can tell?" exclaimed Mr. Pawle.

"All! But we can see plenty in it," said Fosdick. "Our notion is that
Ashton was murdered by somebody who didn't want that secret to come out.
Now, you see if events don't prove we're right."