pulled off his coat, with the view, it was surmised,
of being in a state of general preparation
and armament for whatever might ensue.

A thrilling scream from above, brought matters
to a crisis below. The shriek was re-echoed by
the cook, and although to Stephen she only
appeared to yawn, the movement that followed
quickly undeceived him. Up flew the whole
phalanx, Stephen after. Mrs. Humpage was on
her knees at the dressing-room door, knocking,
screaming, imploring, in frantic alarm. He had
hung himself, she declared, from the clothes-
hook on the door. She could hear his boot-heels
kicking against it—forgetting, poor lady, that if
her suspicions were correct, he could hardly
be expected to comply with her reiterated
requests to open the door. The servants partook
of their mistress's impression. Does it
seem strange that everybody was so suddenly
plunged into consternation? Mr. Humpage had
been but half an hour longer than common over
his dressing. But this was the first infraction of
a custom of two-and-twenty years. Self-imposed
laws are the best observed. No member of that
orderly establishment, if questioned, would have
considered any further explanation necessary,
than that they knew " master's way."

Mrs. Humpage, making an eager gesture which
might be interpreted as an order to break in,
Stephen the strong, without further ceremony,
put his broad knee against the door, which,
secured only by a slight catch, yielded instantly.

The first moment sufficed to convince them that
no one was in the apartment. The next, Stephen
caught his mistress by the arm, and somewhat
peremptorily twisted her through the door. His
quick sight had managed to sweep in details he
did not wish her to be among the first to investigate.
With the like determination he induced
the other women to quit the room, and then,
putting a strong restraint upon his own anxious
curiosity, secured the door on the outside, and
started off to the police-office in Bow-street as
fast as his legs would carry him.

A shrewd and able man was Sir James Polhill,
at that time chief magistrate; and he, after
receiving a hasty communication from Stephen,
despatched a sturdy individual in top-boots,
white neckcloth, and long red waistcoat—called
a " runner" because they always walked—to the
house of Three Elms.

Isaac Surtees, the constable-runner, subsequently
deposed that, from information which
had been conveyed to him, and from certain
directions he had received (Stephen had reported
"Sum'at wrong down our way," and the magistrate
had ordered him to "see about it"), he proceeded
to Jermyn-street, Saint James's, where
he observed a crowd of persons assembled about
the door of a house, Number Twenty-seven, by
the three great hellems, opposite the public,
next the chapel, round the corner, leftanside.
There was much excitement in the neighbourhood,
especially in and about the Three Jolly
Counsellors, partly owing to what had transpired
at Number Twenty-seven, partly to the promiscuous
impalement of a little boy—by the trousers—
on the spikes of the hairy, Number Twenty-
seven aforesaid. Knocked at the door, and
was admitted in the ordinary way. ("Well,
man, we don't suppose you got down the
chimney," growled the magistrate.) Scraped
his shoes. There was a large Tom cat in the
passage.

"Get on, officer. You need not be too precise,"
said the magistrate.

Likewise a door leading to a back staircase,
conducting to apartments on the first floor,
through a gallery and ante-room, down three
steps, and up one, whereby you come to another
room, whereof Stephen Gould, the butler, which
has lived in the family nigh twenty-three years,
and lost his hearing complete in the great fog of
'twenty-seven, produced from the left-hand pocket
of his peach-coloured velveteen inexpressibles,
the key.

The apartment—to condense Mr. Surtees's report—
was in much the same sort of confusion a
gentleman might make in dressing hastily. The
things were thrown about. In the middle of
the room was a large pool of blood— other traces
being noticeable in a direction towards the window.
The sash of the latter was up, one pane
broken, and one cut clean out, as if by a practised
hand. Two towels, on which bloody
hands had been wiped, lay near the washing-
stand, on the floor. But the most significant
trace of all presented itself in the shape of a
lock, or tuft of grizzled hair—pronounced by
Stephen to be his master's—which was picked
up, soaked in blood, close beside the window.
There was nothing, apart from this, to indicate
that a murderous struggle had taken place, nor,
indeed, was that compatible with circumstances
at a later period deposed to. The murder—if
such it was—must have been effected completely
and suddenly, by surprise.

The motive? The closest scrutiny failed to
establish the fact that any article of value, with
one exception, had been taken away. That exception
was the merchant's watch: a chronometer
worth, as he had been accustomed to declare,
one hundred pounds sterling. Not a drawer,
shelf, or cupboard, had been disturbed. Gold
and silver money was scattered on the table—a
massive gold snuff-box, gold pencil-case, and
other things of undoubted value—all these were
safe. The outrage, whatever its nature, and by
whomsoever perpetrated, had been clearly
directed against the person, not the property, of
the missing man.

The singularity of the circumstances, even at
a period, too much marked with desperate crimes,
attracted unusual attention. The merchant had
been held in high esteem by a very large circle
of acquaintance; the magistrate himself, Sir
James Polhill, had been of the number of his
friends.

After hearing the testimony of the officer
Surtees, and one or two other witnesses, Sir