I recollected the incident of the burning of the banknotes, and that set me pondering.

"Do you anticipate that he made a will?" I asked. "I think not," was Shaw's answer. "He had a strong aversion to making a will, I know, because he feared that after his death the truth might be revealed."

"The truth concerning what?"

"Concerning a certain chapter of his life which for years had been very carefully hidden. The fact is, Mr Kemball, that he feared exposure!"

"Of what?"

"Of some rather ugly facts. And for that reason he carefully avoided making much explanation to you as to who he really was. He had reasons--very strong reasons--for concealing his actual identity."

"May I not know them?" I asked very slowly, fixing my eyes upon his.

"Some day," was the rather strained reply. "Not now--some day--some day. I hope to be in a position to explain all to you--to reveal to you certain matters which will hold you utterly dumbfounded and amazed."Chapter Eight: The Story of the Cylinder

I was taking tea beneath the trees with my host and Asta, when there approached a tall, dark-haired athletic young fellow in grey flannels and straw hat. He was smiling merrily, and the sudden light in the girl's eyes when she saw him was sufficient to reveal to me that they were intimate friends.

They grasped hands, while Shaw exclaimed in his slow deliberate drawl--"Hulloa, Guy! I thought you had gone up to town?"

"No. I had a wire which put off my appointment until Thursday, so I've come over for a cup of tea." Then she introduced the young fellow to me as Guy Nicholson.

He seated himself in one of the long cane deckchairs, and as Asta handed him some tea the pair began to chat about a tennis tournament which was to be held at a neighbouring house. Presently he turned to me, and we had a long conversation. He had the distinct bearing of a gentleman, smart, spruce, and upright, his handsome smiling face bronzed by the sun, while he seemed brimming over with good-humour.

From the first I instinctively liked him. Shaw explained that the young fellow was a near neighbour, whose father, an ironmaster in the North, had died a couple of years ago, leaving him a handsome fortune. "He's always about with Asta," he added 

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