"Jago is for the Island heart and soul," I said.

"Jago is a very ambitious man—in a great many ways more suited to rule the Island than your father was. Your father resented Jago in a way because he knew this. There was often a sort of tension between them. Jago, on the other hand, believes himself to be so much more capable of running the Island—which indeed he proved himself to be—and I suppose naturally he felt a certain bitterness because he belonged to the illegitimate branch of the family."

"My father realized this since he left everything to Jago, I suppose."

Fenwick looked at me incredulously. "But by now you must be aware of the contents of the will."

"My father's will, you mean?"

"Certainly. You are the heiress of the Island. I know your age, because I remember the year you were born. You will be twenty-one next year and that is when you will come into your inheritance."

"My inheritance?"

"Certainly. Your father was a man with a strong sense of justice.

You were his daughter. He was sure of that as he could not be sure of your half sister. Jago was to hold the estate in trust for you until you were twenty-one, when it becomes yours. If you died without heirs your half sister—because after all he was not entirely sure that she was not his daughter also—was to inherit. In the event of your both dying without heirs, everything was to go to Jago. So Jago now holds the Island until your twenty-first birthday."

I was astounded. I, who had thought of myself so often as the Poor Relation, had, all the time, been a considerable heiress.

"Your father was a very rich man, Miss Kellaway. Of course, his fortune is all tied up in the Island, but with the price of land as it is today and the prosperity of the Island—particularly in the last few years—you stand to inherit something in the region of a million pounds."

I... a millionairess!

"It's fantastic," I cried. "Are you sure this is true? I have heard nothing of it."

"I am astonished. Surely Jago informed you of all this when you came to the Island. I heard you were there and I thought you had come because of this."

"I knew nothing of it. I was invited to come on a visit because of something tragic which had happened in London."

He nodded. "Yes, I know. It was in the papers. It's most extraordinary."

"Are you sure you are not mistaken?"

"I may be, of course. I should be very surprised if I were though. Your father discussed these matters often with me. I was more than a secretary. I used to look after him personally. He trusted me. We were of a kind, and I understood his ways. He said it was unfortunate that he had not known you since you were three years old; he said that on his death you must return to the Island and learn about it and he hoped that you would come to love it. He knew how dedicated Jago was to the place and that he was leaving it in good hands, and he hoped that you would realize that Jago was necessary to the Island and to you. 'Of course,' he once said to me, 'she will marry no doubt and if she has a husband he might be able to do for the Island all that Jago does. That will be a matter for her to decide.'"

I was speechless. This had completely changed my outlook on everything that had happened. I, the heiress of the Island. I ... a millionairess on my twenty-first birthday—and that but a few months distant.

I said at length: "I came here hoping to learn something about my father and Silva, whom I believe to be my half sister, and instead I learn this."

"My great surprise is that you didn't already know."

"I thought I was there as Jago's guest. I was sure he was what I thought of as Lord of the Island. Perhaps you have been mistaken."

"There is a possibility of that. I will give you the address of your father's solicitors. Go and see them and hear the truth."

"Shouldn't they have been in touch with me if this were true?"

"Yes. Perhaps they have been looking for you. It was only since there was this publicity in the papers that it was known where you were."

"My mother went to her mother and then I went to a cousin of hers when she died. I shouldn't have been so very difficult to find."

"It may be that they are looking for you. It's only just a year since your father died and mills of the law—like those of God—grind slowly."

"Well, I am quite bewildered."

"You must be to find yourself such an heiress."

"It is not that so much... although I have yet to consider what it will mean. It is the fact that I knew nothing... ."

He looked at me covertly. "Perhaps Jago had his reasons for not telling."

I felt myself flushing. I was seeing Jago on the Sanctuary Island and remembering the manner in which he had kissed me. Why, of course he wanted to marry me! The Island would be mine, and I fancied he loved the Island with a passion he might not be able to give to anything—or anyone—else.

My chief feeling was one of hurt bewilderment. But the scene was falling into place. How wise had I been to come to Mr. Fenwick. He was telling me too much for my comfort.

"Your father was generous to me," he said. "He left me enough money to live on in comfort for the rest of my life. It is not settled yet—these things take so long; but I had savings of my own and I bought a market garden which was a going concern. But I realized it was not the life for me, so I quickly sold it at a profit and bought this place."

"You have settled down very quickly in a short time."

He had risen and gone toa bureau in the corner of the room. He sat down at this and wrote on a piece of paper, which he handed to me. On it was written "Merry, Fair and Dunn"; and there was an address.

"Your father's solicitors," he said. "Why don't you pay them a call. They will be delighted to see you if they have been trying to contact you, which they must have been since you are the main beneficiary of your father's will. They will confirm—or deny—all that I have told you. All I can say is that your father discussed his intentions very thoroughly with me and I remember the representative of Merry, Fair and Dunn calling at the castle. That was about a year before he died."

"How strange that, having made such a will, he made no attempt to find me."

"He said he didn't want his life complicated at that stage."

"And when did Silva disappear?"

"Only a few months before his death."

"Didn't he care that she had gone?"

"He didn't express an opinion."

"How cruel he was to her!"

"Remember—she always reminded him of her mother's unfaithfulness. Perhaps if she had been a different child, more attractive, more normal, he might not have disliked her so much, but he often asked me why he should bother with her and once he said that only the fear of scandal made him keep her at the castle."

"Did Silva know that he doubted she was his daughter?"

"I don't think so. Few people did. I knew because he confided in me a great deal. He was too proud to speak of his doubts to anyone."

"I wish she were here now. I should so much have liked to know her."

"She was wild always. Once she threatened to throw herself down from the top of the castle tower. The governess of the moment said: 'All right. Do it.' And that made her change her mind. So no one took her threats seriously after that. I think she probably went out in that boat as a gesture, hoping to alarm people, and that it got out of hand. You can't play tricks like that with the sea."

"And her body was never found, though the boat was washed up."

"She was obviously drowned."

"It's strange that her body wasn't washed up somewhere."

"It doesn't always happen. There must be hundreds of people whose bodies have never been found."

"What a sad, tragic life! It is indeed a case of the sins of the parents being visited on the children. I am so grateful to you, Mr. Fenwick. You have told me so much more than I could have hoped to discover."

"It's information which you should know. But with regard to the will, you must see the solicitors whose name I have given you. As a beneficiary I was not present when the will was signed, but I feel sure that your father told me of his true intentions."

I said I would go to the solicitors that day if it were possible and when Michael returned and I showed him the address he said he would take me there right away. The small town in which the offices were situated was only a few miles out of our way and Michael knew the quickest route.

And so in the offices of Merry, Fair and Dunn, I learned that I was indeed the heiress to a considerable fortune which I should inherit when I was twenty-one and until that day this was held in trust, and that Jago Kellaway had the power to manage the Island estate and that my father had strongly advised me to allow him to continue to do so.

There was something else. It was true that in the event of my death without heirs, Silva Kellaway was to inherit the Island.

Since she was undoubtedly dead, it was explained to me Jago Kellaway was the next in the line of succession to the Island crown.

This last piece of news had set the alarm bells ringing in my mind since I had first heard it; but I didn't want to listen to what they were trying to tell me.

More than anything I was eager to confront Jago. I must know what he had to say when he heard what I had discovered and what excuses he would make for not enlightening me.

I was still bewildered and it seemed strange that the thought which was uppermost in my mind was not that I was going to be very rich but that Jago had kept me in the dark, and most insistent of all was the thought that if I were not there and since Silva was presumed to be dead it would all belong to him.