effort, and often at random, the reunion was less successful than usual.

On the plea that she had a headache, Vera left early, and shortly afterwards Alfred, who had several hours' writing to do before going to bed, took leave of Cora and Mrs. Maitland and returned to his lodgings. There he found two letters awaiting him, both of which, as the sequel proved, were fraught with important consequences, as well for himself as for others.

One came from Mr. Wilkins, whom by this time he had almost forgotten. It was of the very briefest, containing merely an invitation to dinner and an expression of regret that, owing to his having been detained longer in America than he expected, he had not been able sooner to carry out his promise.

The other letter was from Warton, and brought strange news. Something very unpleasant," in connection with the Hardy Trust, had turned up. The company had reopened the campaign, and this time they seemed to have hit on a real flaw, which, though it might not make Saintly Sam's fortune, was likely enough, according to present appearances, to deprive Miss Hardy of hers. Could Balmaine call at the office on an early day? Mr. Artful would much like to see him.

CHAPTER LXIII.-A PLOT.

THERE used to be a house of entertainment at Paris, known as the Hôtel des Miracles, Rue des Apôtres, names which, since the advent of the third Republic, have been changed for others more in harmony with the ideas of an age and a country which does not believe in anything particular.

The Rue des Apôtres was a narrow street on the left bank of the Seine, a street of tall houses and small shops; the Hôtel des Miracles, a narrow building of five stories, flanked on one side by a wine shop, on the other by an ancient porte cochère and a débit de tabac. Behind the double front door was a recess, wherein slept-with a cord round his arm, so arranged that nobody could enter without rousing him-Auguste, the single porter and general factotum of the establishment; for Madame Merveille could not afford or thought she could not affordtwo porters, and she did not choose to supply the whole of her twenty or thirty lodgers, some of whom she hardly knew by sight, with latch-keys.

On one side of the entrance passage was a dining-room, capable of accommodating comfortably a score or more of diners; on the

other, Madame Merveille's cabinet, in which she received her visitors and kept her books Behind was the kitchen. All the rest of the house consisted of bedrooms, the Miracles being both an ordinary inn and an hotel meublé. Most of Madame Merveille's guests were, indeed, lodgers only. Some of them she seldom saw, except when they paid their bills-nor always then, for as often as not they left the money with Auguste, either before Madame got up or after she went to bed. But she had also regular pensionnaires, whom, being a good soul and a sensible woman, she treated well and charged moderately. Boarders, who proposed to make a long stay, she would rate as low as thirty or forty francs a week, giving them a good bedroom on the fourth story, three meals a day, and wine at discretion. Madame Merveille's liberality in the matter of wine did not lose her anything, however, for the more her lodgers drank of it the less they were likely to eat. She knew that a litre of vin ordinaire at fifty centimes, taken with a meal, provokes appetite as little as it promotes digestion.

It is hardly necessary to say that the Hôtel des Miracles was frequented almost exclusively by Madame Merveille's compatriots, the vast majority of foreign visitors being as ignorant of the existence of the Rue des Apôtres as was the worthy landlady of the English tongue. Nevertheless, a few weeks before Alfred Balmaine received the startling communication from Warton, mentioned in the foregoing chapter, three Englishmen, not unknown to the reader, were under Madame Merveille's roof.

One was Vernon Corfe; the other two were Saintly Sam and Lawyer Ferret. They were sitting at one end of the table in the little salle à manger, which had evidently just been the scene of a repast, and as the regular diners, according to their wont, had betaken themselves to a neighbouring café and elsewhere, the three men had the room to themselves.

"This seems a nice little house," Saintly Sam was saying.

"And not half a bad dinner either," observes the lawyer, sipping his coffee and proceeding to light a cigar.

"I should think so," puts in Corfe, "you would have had to pay five francs for such a dinner on the boulevards, wine not included. But it was not merely for the sake of economy that I asked you to come here. It is so much quieter than the big hotels on the other side of the Seine, and more out of the way, you know."

"And more Frenchy," remarks the chairman of the Hardy Fortune Company gravely. "When I am in France I like to be Frenchy. But what are we here for? That's what I want to know. You invited us to meet you on important business connected with our claim to the Hardy fortune. You said you had important disclosures to make, which would insure us getting the fortune. We lunched at the station at two o'clock; we drove straight here, and found you waiting for us. You said, as dinner was just ready, we had better not go into business till after. Ferret and me were quite willing, being uncommonly hungry. But now as we have satisfied our appetites and all's quiet, let us go into things without any further loss of time. Is not that quite right, Ferret ?"

66

Quite right, Mr. Hardy. And Mr. Corfe must not forget that our time is precious."

"Yours is, Ferret, to judge by your bills," returns Sam, laughing slyly at his own joke. "This journey will cost a bonny penny too. However, that is neither here nor there, if this gentleman will put us in the way of getting our rights."

"I both can and will-on conditions, Mr. Hardy."

"Conditions! That means brass, I suppose? Well, make your proposals, Mr. Corfe, and I'll give you my answer. But first of all, tell us what you have got to sell-for that's what it amounts to, I reckon."

"I can easily do that," says Corfe quietly, handing Sam a cigar and lighting one himself. 66 Well, I think I may say I know as much of the ins and outs of this business as you know yourselves. As for the facts, they are notorious, while as for the law, I have taken advice from a very clever English barrister, a friend of mine who lives in Paris, because, like some other people, he finds it a more convenient place of residence than London. Now it results from what he says, and I know, that as affairs look at present, you have not a ghost of a chance

"Come, come; I am not at all sure about that," interrupts Ferret.

"But I am, and you know I am right, Mr. Ferret," answers Corfe firmly. "I repeat it, you have not a ghost of a chance. What does it matter where old John Hardy came from, or whether he was Mr. Hardy's grandfather or great uncle, or whatever else you may call him? Vera Leonino-Miss Hardy, I mean-is the heiress. Even if there was no will, she would inherit, and there is a will, leaving her everything. And

there can be no question about her being Philip Hardy's child. It can be proved in half-a-dozen ways."

"If that's your opinion, what did you mean by that letter you wrote us, and what are we here for?" asks Saintly Sam angrily. "Wait a minute. Suppose Vera's father and mother were not married, or, what comes to the same thing, she cannot prove they were, how then?"

"Then I do believe we should get the fortune," says Ferret. "It is my firm conviction we should. At any rate, she could not get it; I'd take good care of that." "But they were married, and I can prove it."

Here Corfe paused for a reply, and the other two gazed at him in blank amazement. "What the mischief do you mean?" demands Ferret.

"Where is the flaw?" exclaims Hardy.

"I said I could prove it. But nobody else can; and if it's made worth my whiledo you twig now?" asks Corfe, leaning back in his chair and leering wickedly at Ferret through the smoke of his cigar.

"I think I do. But I don't understand how you have exclusive possession of the proofs."

But

"I will enlighten you. Philip Hardy was married at a town called Balafria, in Lombardy. It was more than half burnt down during the war of 1859, and the church, public offices, records of births, deaths, and marriages were utterly destroyed. Philip Hardy had taken the precaution to obtain properly attested and legalised copies of the documents necessary to prove his marriage. Those copies were in his possession when he died; they are in my possession now."

"How did you come by them?"

"That is my business. But I will say this much, that it was quite by accident." "You mean you did not steal them," says the lawyer bluntly.

"No, I did not steal them; though I do not see what it would matter to you even if I did."

"But how are we to know, first of all, that these papers are genuine, and, secondly, that duplicates-certified copies-are not to be obtained at the place you mentioned just now-Balafria ?"

Firstly, by going with me to the Italian consul, who will tell you they are genuine ; secondly, by trying to get certified copies, when you will be told that none are to be had. If you like I will go with you to

"If he is in earnest he is; but maybe he is not. Do you really mean, Mr. Corfe, that you expect us to give you ten thousand pounds for these certificates?"

"Certainly, and they are cheap at the money. The other side would give me ten times as much."

"Why don't you treat with the other side, then?"

"Because I don't want Miss Hardy to get the fortune. She would marry that scoundrel Balmaine, and I hate them both. However, that is nothing to you. Will you give ten thousand for two millions or not?"

"Yes, and as much more as you say the other side will give, if you will insure us getting the two millions.

66

Why, you said just now that if Vera could not prove she was born in wedlock you were absolutely sure of getting it."

"I said it was my firm opinion we should. It is my opinion still. But I am not infallible. The Court of Chancery might not take the same view of the case. There is always the glorious uncertainty, you know. And assuming that all you say is true, how can we tell that there does not exist somewhere a second attested copy of the marriage register? Suppose, for instance, that Philip Hardy had it in duplicate, and the duplicate should be found among his father's papers, or in possession of some of his wife's kinsfolk-how then?"

"Would you

Ferret, turning to his client. give a thousand-supposing, of course, all as this gentleman says can be proved?"

"No; I would not. In my opinion five hundred would be twice too much. But we will say five hundred; and one way and another the risk is so heavy that I don't much care whether Mr. Corfe takes it or not.”

"Five hundred-only five hundred pounds!" exclaims Corfe, now in his turn moved to indignation. "I'll see you both hanged first."

"Thank you. I think we are quite as likely to see you hanged first, Mr. Corfe. You refuse our offer then? In that case we may as well go back to-morrow, Mr. Hardy.”

Corfe reflected. It is mortifying to get only five hundred pounds when you have been expecting ten thousand, and counting confidently on five. But five hundred is a nice sum, and Corfe was in need of money. As for the other side, his story about revenge was only half true. Revenge may be sweet, but hard cash is sometimes sweeter; and Corfe had written to Artful and Higginbottom, offering to sell them "some very important information relating to the Hardy Trust;" but as Artful knew him to be a scoundrel, and would not have believed him on his oath, he left the letter unanswered. For this Corfe owed the lawyer a grudge, and the desire "to be even with him" and "put a spoke in Balmaine's wheel" at the same time, was, probably, not without its influence in deciding him to accept Sam Hardy's offer. In any case he did accept itafter a short wrangle and a vain attempt to get more.

"I know I am a fool for making such a bargain," he said, "but if it was not that I want so much to serve those beggars out I would not take a centime less than ten thousand."

"We have nothing to do with your motives, Mr. Corfe," answered Ferret curtly, "but the more I think about it the more I feel sure that five hundred is more than enough. How can we tell that these documents are not forgeries after all? Such things have happened."

"Do you think I am such a scoundrel ?" began Corfe furiously. "Let me tell you

"Come, come, there is nothing to get into a passion about," interrupted the lawyer. "I did not say it was so; I merely suggested the possibility of such a thing. I think we may look upon this business being settled, Mr. Hardy-subject, of course, to the proofs promised by Mr. Corfe proving satisfactory."