Mr. Thornton had obtained for him his first
situation in the police, and had heard from
time to time of the progress of his protégé,
but they had not often met, and at first Mr.
Thornton did not remember him.

"My name is Watson, George Watson,
sir, that you got—"

"Ah, yes! I recollect. Why you are
getting on famously, I hear."

"Yes, sir. I ought to thank you, sir. But
it is on a little matter of business I made so
bold as to speak to you now. I believe you
were the magistrate who attended to take
down the deposition of a poor man who died
in the Infirmary last night."

"Yes," replied Mr. Thornton. "I went
and heard some kind of a rambling statement,
which the clerk said was of no great use. I
am afraid he was but a drunken fellow,
though there is no doubt he came to his
death by violence at last. One of my mother's
servants was engaged to him, I believe, and
she is in great distress to-day. What about
him?"

"Why, sir, his death is oddly mixed up
with somebody in the house I saw you coming
out of just now; it was a Mr. Hale's, I
believe."

"Yes! " said Mr. Thornton, turning sharp
round and looking into the inspector's face
with sudden interest. "What about it?"

"Why, sir, it seems to me that I have got
a pretty distinct chain of evidence, inculpating
a gentleman, who was walking with Miss
Hale that night at the Outwood station, as
the man who struck or pushed Leonards off
the platform and so caused his death. But
the young lady denies that she was there at
the time."

"Miss Hale denies she was there! " repeated
Mr. Thornton, in an altered voice.
"Tell me, what evening was it? What
time?"

"About six o'clock, on the evening of
Thursday, the twenty-sixth instant."

They walked on side by side in silence for
a minute or two. The inspector was the first
to speak.

"You see, sir, there is like to be a coroner's
inquest; and I've got a young man who is
pretty positive,—at least he was at first;—
since he has heard of the young lady's denial,
he says he should not like to swear; but still
he's pretty positive that he saw Miss Hale at
the station, walking about with a gentleman not
five minutes before the time, when one of the
porters saw a scuffle, which he set down to
some of Leonards' impudence—but which led
to the fall which caused his death. And seeing
you come out of the very house, sir, I
thought I might make bold to ask if—you
see, it's always awkward having to do with
cases of disputed identity, and one doesn't
like to doubt the word of a respectable young
woman unless one has strong proof to the
contrary."

"And she denied having been at the
station that evening!" repeated Mr. Thornton,
in a low, brooding tone.

"Yes, sir, twice over, as distinct as could
be. I told her I should call again, but seeing
you just as I was on my way back from
questioning the young man who said it was
her, I thought I would ask your advice, both
as the magistrate who saw Leonards on his
deathbed, and as the gentleman who got me
my berth in the force."

"You were quite right," said Mr. Thornton.
"Don't take any steps till you have
seen me again."

"The young lady will expect me to call,
from what I said."

"I only want to delay you an hour. It's
now three. Come to my warehouse at four."

"Very well, sir!"

And they parted company. Mr. Thornton
hurried to his warehouse, and, sternly forbidding
his clerks to allow any one to interrupt
him, he went his way to his own
private room, and locked the door. Then
he indulged himself in the torture of thinking
it all over, and realising every detail.
How could he have lulled himself into the
unsuspicious calm in which her tearful image
had mirrored itself not two hours before,
till he had weakly pitied her and yearned
towards her, and forgotten the savage, distrustful
jealousy with which the sight of
her—and that unknown to him—at such an
hour—in such a place—had inspired him!
How could one so pure have stooped
from her decorous and noble manner of bearing!
But was it decorous—was it? He hated
himself for the idea that forced itself upon
him just for an instant—no more—and yet,
while it was present, thrilled him with its old
potency of attraction towards her image.
And then this falsehood—how terrible must
be some dread of shame to be revealed—for,
after all, the provocation given by such a
man as Leonards was, when excited by drinking,
might, in all probability, be more than
enough to justify any one who came forward
to state the circumstances openly and without
reserve! How creeping and deadly that fear
which could bow down the truthful Margaret
to falsehood! He could almost pity her.
What would be the end of it? She could
not have considered all she was entering
upon; if there was an inquest and the young
man came forward. Suddenly he started up.
There should be no inquest. He would save
Margaret. He would take the responsibility
of preventing the inquest, the issue of which,
from the uncertainty of the medical testimony
(which he had vaguely heard the night
before, from the surgeon in attendance),
could be but doubtful; the doctors had discovered
an internal disease far advanced,
and sure to prove fatal; they had stated
that death might have been accelerated
by the fall, or by the subsequent drinking
and exposure to cold. If he had but known
how Margaret would have become involved