"That's been done, but without result--all his linen is marked L. V., all his letters directed to Lionel Ventin, in fact, it's the only name that can be found."
"Then it must be his real name," asserted Pat.
"Not necessarily; he told me he changed his name, so he evidently did it thoroughly."
"Any crest--that might give a clue?"
"No, nothing."
"Oh! it seems a deuce of a muddle. Hullo, there's the dinner bell--come down old boy, I'm starving."
They went below, and found nearly all the tables full. Pat went to his own table, and Ronald sat sadly down by the side of Ventin's empty chair. He was not there very long when he heard a rustle, and on turning round saw that Miss Cotoner was sitting beside him. Yes, sitting in the dead man's chair, so with a sudden impulse Ronald arose.
"I beg your pardon," he said, bowing; "but would you mind taking my chair instead of that one?"
"Why?" asked the young lady coldly.
"Because--because," he stammered, confusedly, "it was Mr.--Mr. Ventin's, the gentleman who died."