from the latter only two sovereigns and some
silver, and then heaping loose mould over the
hiding-place. That he then repaired to his inn,
and left it late in the morning, on the pretence
of seeking for his relatives—persons, indeed,
who really had been related to him, but of
whose death years ago he was aware. He
returned to L—— a few days afterwards, and, in
the dead of the night, went to take up the casket
and the money. He found the purse with its
contents undisturbed; but the lid of the casket
was unclosed. From the hasty glance he had
taken of it before burying it, it had seemed to
him firmly locked-- he was alarmed lest some
one had been to the spot. But his Master
whispered to him not to mind, told him that he
might now take the casket, and would be guided
what to do with it; that he did so, and, opening
the lid, found the casket empty; that he took
the rest of the money out of the purse, but that
he did not take the purse itself, for it had a
crest and initials on it, which might lead to
discovery of what had been done; that he therefore
left it in the hollow amongst the roots,
heaping the mould over it as before; that, in
the course of the day, he heard the people at
the inn talk of the murder, and that his own
first impulse was to get out of the town
immediately, but that his Master "made him too
wise for that," and bade him stay; that passing
through the streets, he saw me come out of
the sash-window door, go to a stable-yard on
the other side of the house, mount on horseback
and ride away; that he observed the sash-
door was left partially open; that he walked by
it, and saw the room empty; there was only a
dead wall opposite, the place was solitary,
unobserved; that his Master directed him to lift
up the sash gently, enter the room, and deposit
the knife and the casket in a large walnut-tree
bureau which stood unlocked near the window.
All that followed-- his visit to Mr. Vigors, his
accusation against myself, his whole tale—was,
he said, dictated by his Master, who was highly
pleased with him, and promised to bring him
safely through. And here he turned round
with a hideous smile, as if for approbation of
his notable cleverness and respect for his high
employ.

Mr. Jeeves had the curiosity to request the
keeper to inquire how, in what form, or in what
manner, the Fiend appeared to the narrator,
or conveyed his infernal dictates. The man at
first refused to say; but it was gradually drawn
from him that the Demon had no certain and
invariable form; sometimes it appeared to him in
the form of a rat; sometimes even of a leaf, or
a fragment of wood, or a rusty nail; but, that
his Master's voice always came to him distinct,
whatever shape he appeared in; only, he said,
with an air of great importance, his Master, this
time, had graciously condescended, ever since he
left the asylum, to communicate with him in a
much more pleasing and imposing aspect than
he had ever done before— in the form of a
beautiful youth, or, rather, like a bright rose-coloured
shadow, in which the features of a young man
were visible, and that he had heard the voice
more distinctly than usual, though in a milder
tone, and seeming to come to him from a great
distance.

After these revelations the man became
suddenly disturbed. He shook from limb to limb,
he seemed convulsed with terror; he cried out
that he had betrayed the secret of his Master,
who had warned him not to describe his appearance
and mode of communication, or he would
give his servant up to the tormentors. Then the
maniac's terror gave way to fury; his more direful
propensity made itself declared; he sprang into
the midst of his frightened listeners, seized Mr.
Vigors by the throat, and would have strangled
him but for the prompt rush of the superintendent
and his satellites. Foaming at the mouth, and
horribly raving, he was then manacled, a strait-
waistcoat thrust upon him, and the group so left
him in charge of his captors. Inquiries were
immediately directed towards such circumstantial
evidence as might corroborate the details he
had so minutely set forth. The purse, recognised
as Sir Philip's, by the valet of the deceased, was
found buried under the wych-elm. A policeman
despatched, express, to the town in which
the maniac declared the knife to have been
purchased, brought back word that a cutler in
the place remembered perfectly to have sold
such a knife to a seafaring man, and identified
the instrument when it was shown to him.
From the chink of a door ajar, in the wall
opposite my sash- window, a maid- servant,
watching for her sweetheart (a journeyman
carpenter, who habitually passed that way on
going home to dine), had, though unobserved
by the murderer, seen him come out of my
window at a time that corresponded with the
dates of his own story, though she had thought
nothing of it at the moment. He might be a
patient, or have called on business; she did not
know that I was from home. The only point of
importance not cleared up was that which
related to the opening of the casket—the
disappearance of the contents; the lock had been
unquestionably forced. No one, however, could
suppose that some third person had discovered
the hiding-place and forced open the casket to
abstract its contents and then rebury it. The
only probable supposition was, that the man
himself had forced it open, and, deeming the
contents of no value, had thrown them away
before he had hidden the casket and purse, and,
in the chaos of his reason, had forgotten that
he had so done. Who could expect that every
link in a madman's tale would be found
integral and perfect? In short, little importance
was attached to this solitary doubt. Crowds
accompanied me to my door, when I was
set free, in open court, stainless;—it was a
triumphal procession. The popularity I had
previously enjoyed, superseded for a moment by
so horrible a charge, came back to me tenfold,
as with the reaction of generous repentance for
a momentary doubt. One man shared the public
favour—the young man whose acuteness had
delivered me from the peril, and cleared the