CHAPTER XXIII.

The Right Hon. Sir Jordan Lynne, Bart., M.P., sank into a chair as the evil face of Lavarick, alias Jim Banks, disappeared below the window sill and covered his eyes with his hands. What he had feared for so long, ever since that awful night when the old man had died, had come to pass at last. For years he had expected Banks, the man who had witnessed the death-bed scene, to turn up and levy blackmail upon him, and the man had turned up. And matters were even worse than Jordan’s imagination and dread had painted th…