bears the semblance of interest; but, be the
cause what it may, there is no mistaking the
present expression of Downing's face.
Surprise, curiosity, and something which, if it must
be called fear, is the pleasant and excited form
of that feeling, prompt Mr. Downing to look
fixedly at his master, who sits back in his chair in
an attitude of magisterial cogitation, twirling his
heavy gold eye-glass in his bony white hands, and
lost in something which resembles thought more
closely than Mr. Carruthers's mental occupation
can ordinarily be said to do. There he sits, until
he resolves to take his niece Clare into confidence,
tell her of the visit he has received from
the gentleman from the Home Office, and ask her
whether she can make any thing of it, which
resolution attained, and finding by his watch that the
hour is half-past ten, and that therefore a Carruthers
of Poynings may retire to rest if he
chooses without indecorum, the worthy gentleman
creaks up-stairs to his room, and in a few
minutes is sleeping the sleep of the just. Mrs.
Carruthers — Clare having been some time
previously dismissed from the room — also seems to
sleep soundly; at least her husband has seen
that her eyes are closed.

Her rest, real or pretended, would have been
none the calmer had she been able to see her
faithful old servant pacing up and down the
housekeeper's room, and wringing her withered
hands in an agony of distress; for the servant
who had gone to Amherst with Mr. Carruthers
and his mysterious visitor in the morning had
learned the meaning and purpose of the two
gentlemen's visit to Evans, the tailor, and had made
it the subject of a lively and sensational conversation
in the servants' hall. Although literature
was not in a very nourishing condition at
Amherst, the male domestics of the household at
Poynings were not without their sources of
information, and had thoroughly possessed
themselves of the details of the murder.

Mrs. Brookes had heard of the occurrence two
or three times in the course of the preceding day
but she had given it little attention. She was in
her own room when the servants returned with
the carriage which had taken Mr. Dalrymple to
the railway station, having visited her mistress
for the last time that evening, and was thinking,
sadly enough, of George, when the entrance of
the upper housemaid, her eager face brimful of
news, disturbed her.

"Oh, Mrs. Brookes," she began, "do you know
who that gentleman was as dined here, and went
to the town with master?"

"No, I don't," said Mrs. Brookes, with some
curiosity; "do you?"

"Not exactly; but Thomas says Home Office
were wrote on his card, and Home Office has
something to do with finding people out when
they've been a-doing anything."

Mrs. Brookes began to feel uncomfortable.

"What do you mean?" she said. "Who's
been doing anything that wants finding out?"

"Nobody as I knows," replied Martha,
looking knowing and mysterious. "Only, you
know, that murder as Mr. Downing read us the
inquest of, and how it's a foreigner as has been
killed because he wouldn't help to blow up the
King of France; at least, there's something of
that in it. Well, Mr. Downing thinks as the
gentleman come about that."

"About that, here?" said Mrs. Brookes.
"Whatever has put such a notion into Mr.
Downing's head as that?"

"Well, Mrs. Brookes, this is it: they're all
talking about it in the hall, and so I thought I'd
just come and tell you. Master and the stranger
gentleman didn't take the carriage right on into
town; they got out. just inside the pike, and
went on by themselves; and, when they came
back, master he looked very red and grand-looking,
and the strange gentleman he looked as if he
was rare disappointed and put out, and, as he was
a-shutting the door of the b'rouche, Thomas
heard him saying, 'No, no; there's nothing more
to be done. Evans was our only chance, and he's
no use.' So nat'rally Thomas wonders whatever
they've been about, and what was their business
with Evans; so he and coachman wasn't
sorry this evening when the strange gentleman
was gone by the train, and they see Evans
a-loungin' about, a-flapping his hands, which he's
always doing of it, up by the station. He were
lookin' at the strange gentleman as sharp as
sharp, as they drove up to the bookin'-office;
and when they came out, there he were, and
coachman tells 'em all about it."

"All about what?" asks Mrs. Brookes,
sharply.

"All about what brought master and the
other gentleman to his shop; and it's his belief,
as master said more than the other gentleman
wanted him to say; for master let out as how a
murder had something to do with the business."

"What business, Martha? Do tell me what
you mean, if you want me to listen to you any
longer. How could Mr. Carruthers want to
know anything from Evans about a murder?"

"Lor', ma'am, it weren't about the murder;
it were about the coat! Master told Evans as
how there had been a murder, and the other
gentleman took master up rather shorter,
Evans thinks, than master is accustomed to be
took and asked him no end of questions — did he
make such and such coats? and who did he
sell 'em to? and partic'lar did he sell Witney
coats? which Mr. Evans said he didn't in general,
and had only sold one in two years, which
the strange gentleman wanted to know what sort
of gent had had it, and were he young or old, or
good-looking or or'nary, and a mort of questions;
wherein Evans answered him to the best of his
ability, but, being a man of his word, he couldn't
make it no clearer than he could."

"What did he make clear?" asked Mrs.
Brookes. "Two years is a long time to remember
the sale of a coat."

"It wasn't so long since it were sold. Mr.
Evans sold it six weeks ago, but it were two years
made."

Mrs. Brookes's heart gave a great bound, and