his feet.

“You have to thank this gentleman for saving your life,” said Mr. Fortescue, in French.

“How?” asked the fellow in the same language.

“If you had killed me you would have been hanged. If I hand you over to the police you will get twenty years at the hulks for attempted murder, and unless you answer my questions truly I shall hand you over to the police. You are a Griscelli.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Which of them?”

“I am Giuseppe, the son of Giuseppe.”

“In that case you are his grandson. How did you find me out?”

“You were at Paris last summer.”

“But you did not see me there.”

“No, but Giacomo did; and from your name and appearance we felt sure you were the same.”

“Who is Giacomo—your brother?”

“No, my cousin, the son of Luigi.”

“What is he?”

“He belongs to the secret police.”

“So Giacomo put you on the scent?”

“Yes, sir. He ascertained that you were living in England. The rest was easy.”

“Oh, it was, was it? You don’t find yourself very much at ease just now, I fancy. And now, my young friend, I am going to treat you better than you deserve. I can afford to do so, for, as you see, and, as your grandfather and your father discovered to their cost, I bear a charmed life. You cannot kill me. You may go. And I advise you to return to France or Corsica, or wherever may be your home, with all speed, for to-morrow I shall denounce you to the police, and if you are caught you know what to expect. Who is your accomplice—a kinsman?”

“No, only compatriot, whose acquaintance I made in London. He is a coward.”