"That, maybe, there's a woman in the case."

The banker laughed outright at the absurdity of
this notion; but over Saxon's mind there flashed
a sudden, strange suspicion—a suspicion so vivid,
that it stood to him for a conviction; a conviction
so startling, that it came to him like a revelation.

Helen Rivière!

The name almost escaped his lips, with the
shock of discovery. He saw the whole plot now
—saw it as plainly as if his cousin's secret soul
had been laid bare before him. His course was
taken on the instant. With conviction came
decision; with quick sight, prompt action.

"I have changed my mind," he said. " I will
pursue the search. I am willing to employ any
means, short of bringing my cousin before a
court of justice. Tell me what is best to be done,
and I will do it."

His resolute tone took them by surprise.

"Come," said Greatorex, "this is common
sense."

But Saxon, who had been all irresolution up
to this moment, was now all impatience.

"For Heaven's sake," he exclaimed, "let us
lose no more time in talking! Moments are
precious. What is to be done?"

"Well, sir, in the first place," replied Mr.
Keckwitch, "you must give private employment
to three or four sharp fellows. My friend, Mr.
Kidd, will know where to find 'em for you."

"Good. Go on."

"One must search in and about London; one
must go upon this foreign track, just for safety;
and one must run down to Liverpool, with
instructions to cross to Kingston, if he sees cause
to do so."

"Yes, yes. Go on."

"And you must offer a fair reward."

"How much?"

"Well, sir, would you think a couple of
hundred too much?"

"I will make it a couple of thousand."

"Bravo!" cried Greatorex. "For two thousand
pounds these detective fellows would find
you the bones of Adam and Eve."

"Say you so? Then it shall be five thousand.
Mr. Keckwitch, I authorise you to offer a reward
of five thousand pounds in my name."

The head clerk bowed down before Saxon as
if he had been a demi-god, and said that it should
be done forthwith.

"I'll go myself with the fellow who takes the
Paris job," said Mr. Greatorex. "I shall enjoy
the excitement of the thing; and you, Trefalden,
had better go to Liverpool."

Saxon shook his head,

"No," he said, "my field shall be London."

CHAPTER LXXXV. SAXON TAKES HIS OWN COURSE.

"Maybe there's a woman in the case."

Those words caused Saxon to fling himself
heart and soul into the pursuit. They roused all
the will and energy that were in him. It was
but a random guess of Mr. Keckwitch's, after
all; but it did what the loss of two millions of
money had failed to do.

The more he thought of it, the more probable
—the more terribly probable—it seemed. So
young, so lovely, so fresh to the world as Helen
Rivière was, what more likely than that, William
Trefalden should desire to have her for his own?
What more likely than that she, being so poor
and so friendless, should accept him? She
would be certain to do so, if only for her mother's
sake. For Saxon did not now believe that Mrs.
Rivière was dead. As he had once trusted his
cousin with an infinite trust, he now regarded
his every word and deed with unbounded suspicion.
He neither believed that Mrs. Rivière
was dead, nor that Helen was gone to Florence,
nor that any statement that William Trefalden
had ever made to him at any time was other than
deliberately and blackly false.

Granting, however, that Mrs. Rivière might
be no more—and it was, after all, sufficiently
likely to be true—would not the lonely girl cling
to whoever was nearest and kindest to her at the
time? And then Saxon remembered how
gentlemanly, how gracious, how persuasive his
cousin could be; how sweet his smile was, how
pleasant and low his voice!

Poor Helen! Poor, pretty, trustful, gentle
Helen! What a fate for her! It made his
heart ache and his blood boil, and brought to
the surface all that was tendercst and manliest
in his nature only to think of it.

Within five minutes after he had announced
his decision, the three men parted at the door of
William Trefalden's office. Each went his separate
way—Keckwitch to engage the detectives,
Greatorex to make arrangements for his temporary
absence, and Saxon to pursue his own quest
according to his own plan.

He went straight to Brudenell-terrace,
Camberwell, and inquired for Miss Rivière.

The belligerent maid-servant reconnoitred
through a couple of inches of open doorway
before replying.

"Miss Rivers don't live here now," she said,
sharply.

This, however, was only what Saxon had
expected to hear.

"Can you oblige me, then," he said, "with
her present address?"

"No, I can't."

"But surely Miss Rivière must have left an
address when she removed from here?"

"There was an address left," replied the girl;
"but it ain't right, so it's of no use to any
one."

"How do you know that it is not right?"

"Because it's been tried, of course. But I
can't stand here all day."

And the girl made as if she was about to shut
the door in Saxon's face; but, seeing his fingers
on their way to his waistcoat-pocket, relented.
He placed a sovereign in her hand.

"I want to know all that you can tell me on
this subject," he said.

She looked at the coin and at him, and shook
her head suspiciously.

"What's this for?" she said.