fortunate it was that I was away at the time,
and so down upon my luck, that I never knew
or thought about any public affairs, and so
did not hear of the murder except in the
vaguest way. In the peculiar lustre of our
London civilisation, you know, George, somebody
found dead in the river is so frequent a
mote, that nobody thinks about it."

"Not in a general way," said George; "but
they made so much of this, and were so
confident that it was a political affair, I cannot
understand how any of us escaped hearing of it."

"Yes," acquiesced Routh, "it is very
extraordinary, but such things do happen. And
rather fortunate, it seems, that they do, for if I
had dropped in on the inquest, it would have
been very awkward for you."

"Why?" said George; "after all, the truth
must have come out, and all this misery about
my mother would have been avoided."

An evil look from Routh's eye lighted for a
moment on the young man's unconscious face,
then glanced away, as he said:

"You forget that all I could have said must
have strongly favoured the notion that the man
who wore the coat which the waiter swore to,
and was last seen with Deane, was the last
person who ever saw him alive. If I had had
time to think, of course I shouldn't have said
a word about it; but if I had been hurried into
speaking, that is what I must have said. Come,
George, you are much too sensitive about this
matter. Of course, I'm sorry for Deane, but I
care a great deal more for you, and I decline to
look at any part of this matter except such as
concerns you. As to his relatives, as that part of
the business appears to distress you most keenly,
I must set your mind at rest by informing you
that he had not a near relation in the world."

"Indeed," said George. "How do you
know?"

"He told me so," said Routh. "You will
say, perhaps, that is not very trustworthy
evidence, but I think we may take it in this
particular instance for more than its general worth.
He was the coldest, hardest, most selfish fellow
I ever knew in the whole course of my
experience, which had included a good deal of
scoundreldom, and he seemed so thoroughly to
appreciate the advantages of such isolation, that
I believe it really did exist."

"He was certainly a mystery in every way,"
said George. "Where did he live? We never
knew himâ??at least I never didâ??except loafing
about at taverns, and places of the kind."

"I don't know where he lived," said Routh;
"he never gave me an address, or a rendezvous,
except at some City eating-house, or West-end
billiard-room."

"How very extraordinary that no one
recognised the description. It was in every way
remarkable, and the fur-lined coat must have been
known to some one. If I had seen any
mention of the murder, I should have remembered
that coat in a moment."

"Would you?" said Routh. "Well, it would
have thrown me off the scent, for I never
happened to see it. An American coat, no doubt.
However, I have a theory, which I think you
will agree with, and which is this: I suspect
he had been living somewhere in another name
â??he told me he wasn't always known by that of
Deaneâ??under not very creditable circumstances,
and as he must have had some property, which,
had he been identified, must have been delivered
up to the authorities, those in the secret have
very wisely held their tongues."

"You think there was a woman in the case?"

Routh smiled a superior smile.

"Of course I think so; and knowing as
much, or as little of the man, as you and I
know, we are not likely to blame her much for
consulting her own interests exclusively. This
seems a curious case to us, because we happen
to know about it; but just think, in this enormous
city, in this highly criminal age, how
common such things must be. How many
persons may not have dropped out of existence
since you and I last met, utterly unknown and
uncared for, amid the mass of human beings
here? It is no such rare thing, George, believe
me, and you must listen to reason in this
matter, and not run absurd risks to do an
imaginary piece of justice."

This was Harriet's counsel merely put in
colder, more worldly words. Routh watched
his listener keenly as he gave it, and saw that
his purpose was gained. He would have been
glad now to have turned the conversation into
some other channel; and did partially succeed
in directing it to Dallas's literary prospects and
intentions, but only for a time. George
pertinaciously came back to the murder, to his
mother's state, to his apprehensions that she
might never recover, and to his altered feelings
towards Mr. Carruthers.

Routh made very effective use of the latter
topic. He enlarged upon the pride and
sensitiveness of Mr. Carruthers; adverted to the
pleasure with which, in case of her recovery,
his mother would hail the better state of things
for which Mr. Carruthers's letter to his step-son,
combined with George's adoption of a new and
steady career, would afford an opening; and
congratulated George upon having been saved
from taking any step which, by bringing public
notice upon himself in so terrible a matter,
must have incensed the proud man, and
irritated him against him incalculably.

George was amenable to this line of reasoning,
and with only occasional divergence from the
main topic of their discourse, the evening passed
away, and the two men parted for the night, it
having been agreed that Harriet should be taken
into consultation in the morning, and a well-
considered letter written to Mr. Carruthers.

George Dallas was in the dining-room on the
following morning before Routh and Harriet
came in, and he found a letter directed to
himself, in a hand with which he was unacquainted,
on the breakfast-table. He broke the seal with
some alarm and much curiosity. A slip of
paper folded round two thin, limp letters, formed
the enclosure; it bore only the words: "My