all this while on the money which he himself
had paid over to him in notes at Glenoak.

"That is true," thought Tom Ackland;
for he remembered that his cousin, in his
last letter from Glenoak, had stated that
the notes were still in his possession. But
nothing short of insanity could account
for his not having deposited them, since
then, at any bank. Unhappily such an
hypothesis was by no means improbable.
Who was that Spanish gentleman who
professed to have discovered the hat and
book of John Ackland's on the bank of
the river? Could he have been John
Ackland's assassin? But if so, why
should he have spontaneously attracted
attention to the disappearance of his victim,
and promoted investigation into the
circumstances of it? His story, as reported
by the Charleston Messenger, was indeed
so extravagant as to justify the opinion
expressed by that journal. But Tom Ackland
had in his possession letters from his
cousin which made the story appear far
less improbable to him than it might
reasonably appear to any one not acquainted
with the state of John Ackland's mind
during the last month. It was very
unlucky that there was now no possibility of
seeing and speaking with that Spanish
gentleman. For the gentleman in question,
after having postponed his departure
in order to aid the inquiries of the police,
had left Charleston about two days before
Tom Ackland's arrival there, on being
assured by the authorities that his presence
was not required. And he had left behind
him no indication of his present whereabouts.

This was the position of affairs with Mr.
Tom Ackland, and his inquiries appeared
to have come to a hopeless dead lock, when,
late one night, Mr. Cartwright (who had
been absent during the whole of the day)
burst into his room with the announcement
that he had obtained important information
about John Ackland.

It had occurred to him, he said, that
John Ackland must, from all accounts,
have been a confirmed invalid for the last
few months. If so, he would probably have
sought some country lodging in the
neighbourhood of Charleston, where the situation
was healthiest, without being inconveniently
far from town, in case he should require
medical assistance. Acting at once on this
supposition (which, in order not to excite
false hopes, in case it should lead to nothing,
he had refrained from communicating
to Tom), he had determined to visit all
the environs of Charleston. He had that
morning selected for his first voyage of
discovery a locality only a few miles distant
from Charleston, which he knew to be a
particularly healthy situation. His inquiries
there were not successful, and he was on
the point of returning to Charleston, when
he fortunately recollected that he had not
yet visited a little lodging-house where
he remembered having once taken rooms
himself, many years ago, when he was at
Charleston with his poor wife, then in very
weak health. He was not aware whether
that house still existed, but he thought
he would try; and he had been rewarded
for his pains by learning from its
landlady that some time ago a gentleman,
who said his name was Ackland, called
there, saw the house, and took it for six
months. He paid the rent in advance,
and had placed his effects in the house.
But, to the best of the landlady's belief,
he had not once slept at home since he
became her tenant. He frequently came
there, indeed, during the day, and had
sometimes taken his meals there. But
on all such occasions it was his habit to
lock the door of his room as long as he was
in it. Nothing would induce him to touch
food in the presence of any one. She had
served him his dinner often, but had never
seen him eat it. Sometimes he carried
part of it away with him; and once he told
her that he did this in order to have the
food analysed. He appeared to be under a
constant impression that his food was
poisoned; and the landlady was of opinion
that her lodger was a decided monomaniac,
but that he was perfectly harmless. She
said he was a very eccentric gentleman,
but an excellent tenant. He had been
at the house on the morning of the 16th
(she remembered the date because of a
washing bill which he told her to pay for
him on that day, and for which she has
not yet been reimbursed). He remained
at home during the whole of the day, but
locked up his room as usual. About six
o'clock in the evening he went out, locking
the doors of all the sitting-rooms and
bedrooms, and taking the key with him.
Before leaving the house, he told her that
he was likely to be absent for some time,
as he was pursued by enemies, and that
there would probably be inquiries about
him, but she was not to notice them, and
on no account to mention his name to any
one. "She has never seen him since. But
her description of him precisely tallies with