“You will excuse me， Mr. Sholto，” said Miss Morstan， “but I amhere at your request to learn something which you desire to tellme. It is very late， and I should desire the interview to be as shortas possible.”
“At the best it must take some time，” he answered； “for we shallcertainly have to go to Norwood and see Brother Bartholomew.
We shall all go and try if we can get the better of BrotherBartholomew. He is very angry with me for taking the coursewhich has seemed right to me. I had quite high words with himlast night. You cannot imagine what a terrible fellow he is when heis angry.”
“If we are to go to Norwood， it would perhaps be as well to startat once，” I ventured to remark.
He laughed until his ears were quite red.
“That would hardly do，” he cried. “I don’t know what he wouldsay if I brought you in that sudden way. No， I must prepare youby showing you how we all stand to each other. In the first place，I must tell you that there are several points in the story of whichI am myself ignorant. I can only lay the facts before you as far as Iknow them myself.
“My father was， as you may have guessed， Major John Sholto，once of the Indian army. He retired some eleven years ago andcame to live at Pondicherry Lodge in Upper Norwood. He hadprospered in India and brought back with him a considerable sumof money， a large collection of valuable curiosities， and a staff ofnative servants. With these advantages he bought himself a house，and lived in great luxury. My twin-brother Bartholomew and Iwere the only children.
“I very well remember the sensation which was caused by thedisappearance of Captain Morstan. We read the details in thepapers， and knowing that he had been a friend of our father’s wediscussed the case freely in his presence. He used to join in ourspeculations as to what could have happened. Never for an instantdid we suspect that he had the whole secret hidden in his ownbreast， that of all men he alone knew the fate of Arthur Morstan.
“We did know， however， that some mystery， some positivedanger， overhung our father. He was very fearful of going outalone， and he always employed two prize-fighters to act as portersat Pondicherry Lodge. Williams， who drove you tonight， was oneof them. He was once lightweight champion of England. Ourfather would never tell us what it was he feared， but he had a mostmarked aversion to men with wooden legs. On one occasion heactually fired his revolver at a wooden-legged man， who proved tobe a harmless tradesman canvassing for orders. We had to pay alarge sum to hush the matter up. My brother and I used to thinkthis a mere whim of my father’s， but events have since led us tochange our opinion.
“Early in 1882 my father received a letter from India which was agreat shock to him. He nearly fainted at the breakfast-table whenhe opened it， and from that day he sickened to his death. What wasin the letter we could never discover， but I could see as he held itthat it was short and written in a scrawling hand. He had sufferedfor years from an enlarged spleen， but he now became rapidly worse，and towards the end of April we were informed that he was beyondall hope， and that he wished to make a last communication to us.
“When we entered his room he was propped up with pillowsand breathing heavily. He besought us to lock the door and tocome upon either side of the bed. Then grasping our hands hemade a remarkable statement to us in a voice which was brokenas much by emotion as by pain. I shall try and give it to you in hisown very words.
“ ‘I have only one thing，’ he said， ‘which weighs upon my mindat this supreme moment. It is my treatment of poor Morstan’sorphan. The cursed greed which has been my besetting sinthrough life has withheld from her the treasure， half at least ofwhich should have been hers. And yet I have made no use of itmyself， so blind and foolish a thing is avarice. The mere feeling ofpossession has been so tear to me that I could not bear to shareit with another. See that chaplet tipped with pearls beside thequinine-bottle. Even that I could not bear to part with， althoughI had got it out with the design of sending it to her. You， mysons， will give her a fair share of the Agra treasure. But send hernothing—not even the chaplet—until I am gone. After all， menhave been as bad as this and have recovered.
“ ‘I will tell you how Morstan died，’ he continued. ‘He hadsuffered for years from a weak heart， but he concealed it fromevery one. I alone knew it. When in India， he and I， through aremarkable chain of circumstances， came into possession of aconsiderable treasure. I brought it over to England， and on thenight of Morstan’s arrival he came straight over here to claim hisshare. He walked over from the station and was admitted by myfaithful old Lal Chowdar， who is now dead. Morstan and I had adifference of opinion as to the division of the treasure， and wecame to heated words. Morstan had sprung out of his chair in aparoxysm of anger， when he suddenly pressed his hand to his side，his face turned a dusky hue， and he fell backwards， cutting hishead against the corner of the treasure-chest. When I stoopedover him I found， to my horror， that he was dead.
“ ‘For a long time I sat half distracted， wondering what I shoulddo. My first impulse was， of course， to call for assistance； but Icould not but recognize that there was every chance that I wouldbe accused of his murder. His death at the moment of a quarrel，and the gash in his head， would be black against me. Again， anofficial inquiry could not be made without bringing out somefacts about the treasure， which I was particularly anxious to keepsecret. He had told me that no soul upon earth knew where hehad gone. There seemed to be no necessity why any soul evershould know.
