and flowers, and draped in muslin. Taking up
the familiar British attitude, and looking, if
possible, more than ever pompous, Mr.
Carruthers proceeded:

"You will be surprised to learn, Clare, that
the visit of the gentleman who came here
yesterday, and with whom I went out, had
reference to this murder."

"How, uncle?" exclaimed Clare. "What
on earth have you, or has any one here, to do
with it?"

"Wait until I have done, and you will see,"
said Mr. Carruthers, in a tone of stately rebuke.
"The last person seen in the company of the
man afterwards found murdered, and who dined
with him at the tavern, wore a coat which the
waiter who recognised the body had chanced
to notice particularly. The appearance of this
person the man failed in describing with much
distinctness, but he was quite positive about
the coat, which he had taken from the man and
hung up on a peg with his own hands. And
now, Clare, I am coming to the strangest part
of this strange story."

The girl listened with interest indeed, and
with attention, but still wondering how her uncle
could be involved in the matter, and perhaps
feeling a little impatient at the slowness with
which, in his self-importance, he told the story.

"I was much surprised," continued Mr.
Carruthers, " to find in the gentleman who
came here yesterday, and whose name was
Dalrymple, an emissary from the Home Office,
entrusted by Lord Wolstenholme with a special
mission to me"—impossible to describe the
pomposity of Mr. Carruthers's expression and
utterance at this point—"to me. He came to
request me to assist him in investigating this
most intricate and important case. It is not a
mere police case, you must understand, my
dear. The probability is that the murdered
man is a political refugee, and that the
crime has been perpetrated" (Mr. Carruthers
brought out the word with indescribable relish)
"by a member of one of the secret societies in
revenge for the defection of the victim, or in
apprehension of his betrayal of the cause."

"What cause, uncle?" asked Clare,
innocently. She was not of a sensational turn of
mind, had no fancy for horrors as horrors, and
was getting a little tired of her uncle's story.

"God knows, my dear; some of their liberty,
fraternity, and equality nonsense, I suppose. At
all events, this is the supposition, and to ask
my aid in investigating the only clue in the
possession of the government was the object of
Mr. Dalrymple's visit yesterday. The man who
was seen in the company of the murdered man
by the waiter at the tavern, and who went
away with him, wore a coat made by Evans of
Amherst. You know him, Clare, the old man
who does so much of our work here. I went
to his shop with Mr. Dalrymple, and we found
out all about the coat. He remembered it
exactly, by the description, and told us when
he had made it, two years ago, and when he
had sold it, six weeks ago, to a person who
paid for it with a ten-pound note with the
Postoffice stamp upon it. The old man is not very
bright, however, for though he remembered the
circumstance, and found the date in his day-
book, he could not give anything like a clear
description of the man who had bought the coat.
He could only tell us, in general terms, that he
would certainly know him again, if he should
see him; but he talked about a rather tall young
man, neither stout nor thin, neither ugly nor
handsome, dark-eyed and dark-haired, in short,
the kind of description which describes nothing.
We came away as wise as we went, except in
the matter of the date of the purchase of the
coat. That does not help much towards the
detection of the murderer, as a coat may
change hands many times in six weeks, if it has
been originally bought by a dubious person.
The thing would have been to establish a likeness
between the man described by Evans, as
the purchaser of the coat, and the man
described by the waiter as the wearer of the coat
at the tavern. But both descriptions are very
vague."

"What was the coat like?" asked Clare, in
a strange, deliberate tone.

"It was a blue Witney overcoat, with a
label inside the collar, bearing Evans's name.
The waiter at the tavern, where the murdered
man dined, had read the name, and remembered
it. This led to their sending to me, and my
being known to the authorities as a very active
magistrate" (here Mr. Carruthers swelled and
pouted again with importance), "they naturally
communicated with me. The question is, now,
how I am to justify the very flattering
confidence which Lord Wolstenholme has placed in
me. It is a difficult question, and I have been
considering it maturely. Mr. Dalrymple seems
to think the clue quite lost. But I am not
disposed to let it rest; I am determined to set
every possible engine at work to discover
whether the description given by the waiter,
and that given by Evans, tally with one
another."

"You said the inquest was adjourned, I
think," said Clare.

"Yes, until to-day; but Mr. Dalrymple will
not have learned anything. There will be an
open verdict." (Here Mr. Carruthers
condescendingly explained to his niece the meaning
of the term.) "And the affair will be left to
be unravelled in time. I am anxious to do all
I can towards that end; it is a duty I owe to
society, to Lord Wolstenholme, and to myself."

Clare had risen from her chair, and
approached the window. Her uncle could not
see her face, as he resumed his seat at the
breakfast-table, and opened his letters in his
usual deliberate and dignified manner. Being
letters addressed to Mr. Carruthers of Poynings,
they were, of course, important; but if they had
not had that paramount claim to consideration,
the communications in question might have
been deemed dull and trivial. Whatever their
nature, Clare Carruthers turned her head from
the window, and furtively watched her uncle