magistrate at Knowlesbury, and when I had attended
at the adjourned Inquest, I should be free to
return to London by the afternoon or the
evening train.

My first errand in the morning was, as usual,
to the post-office. The letter from Marian was
there; but I thought, when it was handed to
me, that it felt unusually light. I anxiously
opened the envelope. There was nothing
inside but a small strip of paper, folded in
two. The few blotted, hurriedly-written lines
which were traced on it contained these
words:

"Come back as soon as you can. I have been
obliged to move. Come to Gower's Walk,
Fulham (number five). I will be on the look-out
for you. Don't be alarmed about us; we are
both safe and well. But come back.–
Marian."

The news which those lines contained – news
which I instantly associated with some attempted
treachery on the part of Count Fosco – fairly
overwhelmed me. I stood breathless, with the
paper crumpled up in my hand. What had
happened? What subtle wickedness had the Count
planned and executed in my absence? A night
had passed since Marian's note was written
– hours must elapse still, before I could get
back to them – some new disaster might have
happened already, of which I was ignorant. And
here, miles and miles away from them, here I
must remain – held, doubly held, at the disposal
of the law!

I hardly know to what forgetfulness of my
obligations anxiety and alarm might not have tempted
me, but for the quieting influence of my faith in
Marian. Nothing composed me, when I began
to recover myself a little, but the remembrance
of her energy, fidelity, and admirable quickness
of resolution. My absolute reliance on her was
the one earthly consideration which helped me
to restrain myself, and gave me courage to wait.
The Inquest was the first of the impediments in
the way of my freedom of action. I attended
it at the appointed time; the legal formalities
requiring my presence in the room, but, as it
turned out, not calling on me to repeat my
evidence. This useless delay was a hard trial,
although I did my best to quiet my impatience
by following the course of the proceedings as
closely as I could.

The London solicitor of the deceased (Mr.
Merriman) was among the persons present. But
he was quite unable to assist the objects of the
inquiry. He could only say that he was
inexpressibly shocked and astonished, and that he
could throw no light whatever on the mysterious
circumstances of the case. At intervals during
the adjourned investigation, he suggested
questions which the Coroner put, but which led to
no results. After a patient inquiry, which lasted
nearly three hours, and which exhausted every
available source of information, the jury
pronounced the customary verdict in cases of sudden
death by accident. They added to the formal
decision a statement that there had been no evidence
to show how the keys had been abstracted, how
the fire had been caused, or what the purpose was
for which the deceased had entered the vestry.
This act closed the proceedings. The legal
representative of the dead man was left to provide
for the necessities of the interment; and the
witnesses were free to retire.

Resolved not to lose a minute in getting to
Knowlesbury, I paid my bill at the hotel, and
hired a fly to take me to the town. A gentleman
who heard me give the order, and who saw that
I was going alone, informed me that he lived in
the neighbourhood of Knowlesbury, and asked
if I would have any objection to his getting
home by sharing the fly with me. I accepted
his proposal as a matter of course.

Our conversation during the drive was
naturally occupied by the one absorbing subject of
local interest. My new acquaintance had some
knowledge of the late Sir Percival's solicitor;
and he and Mr. Merriman had been discussing
the state of the deceased gentleman's affairs and
the succession to the property. Sir Percival's
embarrassments were so well known all over the
county that his solicitor could only make a virtue
of necessity and plainly acknowledge them. He
had died without leaving a will, and he had no
personal property to bequeath, even if he had
made one; the whole fortune which he had
derived from his wife having been swallowed up
by his creditors. The heir to the estate (Sir
Percival having left no issue) was a son of Sir
Felix Glyde's first cousin an officer in
command of an East Indiaman. He would find his.
unexpected inheritance sadly encumbered; but
the property would recover with time, and, if
"the captain" was careful, he might find
himself a rich man yet, before he died.

Absorbed as I was in the one idea of getting
to London, this information (which events proved
to be perfectly correct) had an interest of its
own to attract my attention. I thought it
justified me in keeping secret my discovery of Sir
Percival's fraud. The heir whose rights he had
usurped was the heir who would now have the
estate. The income from it, for the last three-
and-twenty years, which should properly have
been his, and which the dead man had
squandered to the last farthing, was gone beyond
recal. If I spoke, my speaking would confer
advantage on no one. If I kept the secret, my
silence concealed the character of the man who
had cheated Laura into marrying him. For her
sake, I wished to conceal it – for her sake, still, I
tell this story under feigned names.

I parted with my chance companion at
Knowlesbury; and went at once to the town-hall.
As I had anticipated, no one was present
to prosecute the case against me – the necessary
formalities were observed and I was
discharged. On leaving the court, a letter from
Mr. Dawson was put into my hand. It informed
me that he was absent on professional duty and
it reiterated the offer I had already received
from him of any assistance which I might
require at his hands. I wrote back, warmly
acknowledging my obligations for his kindness,
and apologising for not expressing my thanks