The St. Johns herald., 1899-09-02

for my interference, warned me not to stand under the cliff again. Two days later 1 took the dinghy out. 1 was hardly surprised when the plug floated up in splinters and left me to swim ashore.
 One day letters came across from the mainland, one from Cis and one in an unknown hand.
 Cis' letter, of course, 1 read first. Her letters were one delight in this dreary life. Then I tore open the other and skinned it through. Then collapsed into a chair, dropping the letter. Then I picked 1t up and read 1t again.
 Only by slow degrees did realize its import. My mothers uncle, old Sir Bernard Child, had died and left me everything. Why, had never seen him, hardly imagined that he was aware of my existence! I walked out, and, still In a dazed condition, called McKeown to pull me across to the mainland. Then bolted up to the yil- lage postoffice and sent off wire. It was hours before 1 got an answer. It seemed days. Toward sunset the reply came, assuring me my news was cor rect in every detail. looked up the first train from Culcross in the morn ing, arranged about a car to take me there, and was soon" rowing back to Skryn to pass what felt, with sen sation of purest joy, would be my last night on the island.
 The sun had long set behind the sea rim as we pulled into the little cove, and 1t was quite dark as we clambered up the narrow rock path. Reaching the top, 1 glanced across to the huts and thought I saw the gleam of a light flash under the door of my shanty. l was about to hurry on when the boy laid hand on my sleeve.
 Did ye see thatT he said. GO quietly, SOFT, a minnit, till we know who's there."
 Tip-toeing along, we passed round to the other side of my hut.
 Yes, faint gleam shone through the glass and then died away. Very eau tiously we crept up and looked In. Pitch darkness, But, listening hard, l felt sure some one was moving inside. We stood, stopped under the sill, quiet as mice.
 Presently there was a scratching from within; match famed up. The man who had lighted 1t was crouched on the fOor his body between us and the light. He was unwinding piece of very thin twine or strong thread and carefully stringing 1t across the floor from the bed to the stove He passed 1t round leg of the stove and then back again, securing 1t finally with in finite caution to a little shiny metal tube which protruded from the top of a small parcel. This parcel was standing we'll hidden under one of the chairs at the foot of the bed. As the man turned 1 saw his profile plainly. It was Cal Ian.
 An instant's thought, and my engi- neering training made plain to me the whole internal plot. The parcel was gun-cotton; the tube held acid in thin glass receptacle. Above this was leaden bullet, kept in place by nov able pin. The string so carefully wound across the floor was attached to the free end of the pin. A touch of careless feet against the string, the pin would pull out, the bullet fall, the glass shiver, and the acid do its deadly work on the explosive below.
 Truly charming plot, and clever one, for who was to prove that I had not been careless with the cartridges always kept store of. No trace of this pretty mechanism would remain in evidence.
 A sudden glow of rage ran through my veins.