door, and one of whom was evidently in the
deepest distress. Jim planned at once into the
heart of the concourse, and asked a number of
eager questions, to which ho received simultaneous
but contradictory replies.

"He's dead!" " No he isn't." " He's his
brother, I tell you; I heard the cook a-tellin'
the milk-boy." "He ain't his brother; the
old 'un's his uncle; and he's been and
murdered his cousin." Such were a few of the
sentences Jim caught as his curiosity and anxiety
rose to frenzy.

"Wot is it? wot is it? Do tell me. Is
anything wrong with Mr. Dallas?" he asked
imploringly of the servant who had opened
the door to the two ladies (who had at last
succeeded in entering the house), and was
just about to shut it in the faces of a few
scores of anxious inquirers endeavouring to
pierce the depths of the hall, and to see through
the dining-room doors. " Don't you know me?
I was here yesterday. I have been here before.
I was to see Mr. Dallas at eleven. Can't I
see him? Is he worse?"

The woman did know the boy, and she at
once admitted him.

"Come in," she said; " I'll tell you inside.
It's a deal worse than his health that's the
matter." So Jim vanished into the house, a
distinction which, being unattainable by
themselves, was regarded with much indignation
by the crowd. Temporarily dispersed by the
active policeman, they gathered again, hoping
the boy would come out, when they might
pounce upon and extract information from him.
But they waited in vain; the boy did not come
out. The carriage still remained at the door,
and in about an hour a geutleman of grave and
busy aspect issued from the maddeningly
mysterious mansion, stepped into the vehicle, and
was driven rapidly away. The crowd was not
in luck; no one heard the order given to the
coachman. Then such silence and desolation
as can ever fall on Piccadilly fell upon the scene,
and the gay looking, brightly decorated house
obstinately hid its secret.

The woman who recognised Jim told him
the story of the events wliich had occurred, in
hall, speaking in a hurried whisper and with
much genuine womanly compassion. Jim heard
her with a beating heart and shaking limbs.
As the boy leaned against the wall, regardless
of the damaging properties of his tousled head
resting on the spotless paint, he wondered if
this was like fainting, and whether he should
be able to keep from " going off" like Mr.
Dallas.

"We're strangers to Mr. Felton, of course,"
said the woman; "and it's natural everybody
as can should like to keep their troubles to
themselves, for it don't do no good tellin' of
'em, and people don't think no more of you;
but there's things as can and things as can't be
hid, and them as can't has been a takin' place
here."

"Yes," said Jim, faintly; for the words he
had heard in the crowd were ringing in his
ears; " yes, yes; but tell me—-  "

"I'll tell you, as plain as I can make it out.
Mr. Felton had some letters yesterday—letters
as come from America—and there were a carte
of his son in 'em; he hasn't seen nor yet heard
of him for ever so long; and when Mr. Dallas
see the carte he knew as the man was the
same as was murdered, and never found out, in
the spring."

"Well?" said Jim. " Yes? Go on." The
faint feeling was subsiding; he was beginning
to understand.

"It were an awful shock for Mr. Dallas to
find out as his cousin had been murdered, and
to have to break it to the father; and no wonder
he fainted over it. Nobody knows how he
did it, but there must have been a dreadful
scene; for I shouldn't ha' known Mr. Felton
from the dead when I went to ask, through
their not answering James's knock, whether
they was a goin' to have any dinner. He was
sittin' in his chair, white and quiet; and Mr.
Dallas— he as had been took so bad himself in
the beginnin'— he was kneeling on the ground
beside him, and I think his arm was round his
neck; but I couldn't see his face, for he only
put out his hand, and says he, ' No, thank you,
Mary; go away for a little, please.' I waited
in the passage, but I never heard a word pass
between them; and we didn't know whatever
could be the matter, for we only knew about
the letters after Mr. Dallas had been took
up."

"Mr. Dallas took up? They said that
outside, but I thought it must be their larks.
Wotever do you mean? Go on go on; tell me
quick!"

"It's quite true; no larks at all. It might
be about eight or nine, and we was all sittin'
down-stairs, a talkin' about the parlours, and
a very quick rinsr comes to the 'all door.
James opens it, and in comes two men, very
short and business-like, which they must see
Mr. Dallas, and can't take no denial. So
James goes to the door to ask if Mr. Dallas
will see them, but they're too quick for James,
and walk in; and in two minutes there's a
great to do and explanation, and Mr. Dallas
is took up."

"But wot for?—wot had he done?" asked
Jim.

"Murdered his cousin, don't I tell you!"
said the woman, a little snappishly. "Ain't I
a-tellin' of you as plain as I can speak. He'd
been and murdered this other gentleman wot
nobody knew, in the spring, and then he sets
the police a lookin' after his cousin, and just
tells them enough to make them know as the
other gentleman was him, which they'd never
had a notion of before, so they come and took
him on suspicion of the murder, and Mr. Felton
went away with him. We was all there when
they put, the handcuffs on him, and his uncle he
stopped him in the 'all, as they was goin' to the
cab, and says he, ' George, my boy, I do this,
that no one may think I'm deceived,' and he