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so sure of that--that there must have been somebody left below to
keep watch, while the others went up to do the job. You see, sir,
there is in one place of the passage floor a fresh deal, and I can
trace upon that deal the marks of a shoe with large nails in it, going
backward and forward the matter of twenty times. Now, I hear that
the deal was put in not a week ago, and all the folks here agree,
that the old man never let a person with nails in his shoes twenty
times into his house in all his life; so it looks like as if that were the
only time and way in which it could get so often marked."

The two magistrates looked at each other, and Mr. Egerton

answered, "Your suspicion is a shrewd one, Cousins; but now, tell us
sincerely, from all that you have seen and heard, do you think that
Captain Delaware has been one of those concerned?"

"Why, really, sir, I can not say!" answered the officer; "but to tell
the truth--though there is no knowing, after all--nevertheless--not to
speak for a certainty, you know--but still, I should think not."

"You are now speaking to us in confidence, you know, Cousins,"

said Doctor Wilton; "and indeed, we are altogether acting extra-
officially in regard to the murder, though we think it may connect
itself with the other affair. Tell us, therefore, why you judge it was
not Captain Delaware."

"Why, sir, that is difficult to say," replied the officer. "But first and
foremost, do you see, it strikes me that the job was done by as
knowing a hand as ever was on the lay--one that has had a regular
apprenticeship like. Well, as far as I can hear, that does not match
the captain. Then, next, whoever did it, has got in upon the sly by
means of the girl, whether she be an accessory or not. At all events,
she has gone off with her 'complices. She's never murdered--never a
bit of her, take my word for that! Then you see, sir, when I had done
with Ryebury, I went away to Emberton Park House; and though
there was a mighty fuss to get in, all the family being gone, yet I
managed it at last, and got a whole heap of the captain's old boots
and shoes, and measured them with the footmarks, and on oath I
could prove that none of them--neither those up, nor those down
stairs--the marks I mean--ever came off his foot."

"Why, it would seem to me, that what you have said would go
very far to exculpate him altogether," said Dr. Wilton.

"Ay, sir! but that is a mighty rum story about the notes,"
answered the officer. "It would make a queer case for the 'sizes, any
how. Nevertheless, I don't think him guilty; and if he would explain
about the money, all would be clear enough--but that story of his
won't go; and if he sticks to it and is caught, he'll be hanged if Judge
---- tries him. He'll get off if it come before Sir ----. He did well
enough to slip his head out of the collar, any way."

"But do you think that Ruthven will catch him then demanded Dr.
Wilton, with no small anxiety.

"Why, not so easy as if he were an old thief," replied the officer;

"for you see, sir, we know all their haunts, and where they'll take to
in a minute, while this young chap may go Lord knows where!"

Both the magistrates paused thoughtfully for a minute or two, and

at length Dr. Wilton went on: "You see, Cousins, the fact is this, that
the coroner having issued his warrant against Captain Delaware, our
straightforward duty as magistrates is to use all means to put the
warrant in execution; and we are neither called upon, nor have we
perhaps a strict legal right, after a verdict has been pronounced, to
seek for evidence in favor of the person against whom that verdict
has been given. At the same time, we are blamed for not committing
the prisoner at once; and the coroner is blamed for not sending him
off to the county jail the moment the verdict was given, though it
was then night. It is also a part of our clearest duty to do all in our
power to bring the guilty to punishment, an to prepare the case, in a
certain degree, for the officers of the crown; consequently, without
any great stretch of interpretation, we may consider ourselves
justified in using every means to satisfy ourselves who are innocent,
and who are guilty. You think that Captain Delaware is not the
culprit; and you think that three persons have, at all events, been
concerned in the murder. Some suspicion of this kind must also have
been in the minds of the coroner's jury, when they returned a verdict
against Captain William Delaware, and some person or persons
unknown. It is our next business, therefore, to search for those
persons unknown, by every means in our power."

"Why, as to the captain, sir," answered Cousins, "the business

would be soon settled, if we could find out how he came by the
money."

"It is the most extraordinary thing in the world," said Dr. Wilton,
"that Mr. Beauchamp can not be found any where--I am really
beginning to be apprehensive concerning him. He left me in a very
low and depressed state; and if his servant, Harding, were not with
him--which, as he is not to be heard of either, it would seem he is--I
should be afraid that his mind had given way."

"Harding! Harding!" said Cousins, thoughtfully; "I wonder if that

could be the Harding who was a sort of valet and secretary to ----
the banker, and who pocketed a good deal of his cash when he
failed. He had well nigh been hanged, or at least taken a swim
across the pond--but the lawyer let him off for some disclosures be
made, and got him a new place too, they say! I have lost sight of
that chap for a long time. But, however, sir, you were speaking about
the persons unknown. Now I think, do you see, that I have got the
end of a clew that may lead to one of them; and if we get one we
can not fail to get all."

"Who, then, do you think it is," demanded Mr. Egerton. "Let no

means be spared to find out even one of the ruffians."

"Why, sir, you see, I don't mind telling you, because it will go no
farther; but I think it had better be alone," and he looked
significantly at the clerk, who was instantly ordered to withdraw.

"Beg pardon, gentlemen," said Cousins, more freely, when the

other had left the room; "but I have known some of these country
clerks that were the arrantest gossips in the whole neighborhood.
However, the matter is, I hit upon what I think is the head of the
right nail, when I was after the other business, do you see. You told
me to inquire about the burning of the lady's house, and the silver
plate that had disappeared; so, among other things, I went to the
coach office, and examined the books, and just about that time I
found that there had been two parcels sent up to Amos Jacobs, Esq.,
to be left till called for. Now, thinks I, who can Amos Jacobs be, but
the old Jew of the Scuttlehole, as they call him. He receives stolen
goods, gentlemen, and is as great a blind as ever swung. Well, I
asked the book-keeper if he had noticed those two parcels, and he
said yes, because they were so small, and yet so heavy. So then I
asked him who brought them, and he said a gentleman who had
been lodging three doors down the street for six weeks or so. So
away I went, and looking up at the house I saw, 'Lodgings to Let'
stuck up, and in I walked."

"Mr. Beauchamp's lodgings, I dare say," said Dr. Wilton, smiling.

"No, no, sir!" replied Cousins, "I knew those before. They lie a
good bit farther down. But an old woman came to show me the
lodgings, thinking I was going to take them; so I asked her who had
been in them before, and she up and told me all about it. A very
nice gentleman, she said, he was, who was a great chemist, she
believed; for he was always puddling about over a fire, making
experiments, as he told her--but bless you, gentlemen! he was just
making white soup of the lady's plate--that was what he was doing.
So then I asked his name, and she told me it was Mr. Anthony
Smithson. So then the whole matter came upon me at once. Your
worships must understand that, as far as I know of or remember,
there is only one man upon the lay in London who has lost a bit of
his finger, and not having seen him for some time, I had forgot all
about him. His name is Tony Thomson--but sometimes people call
him Billy Winter--and at times he took the name of Johnson--and
Perkins too, I have heard him called--but the name he went by
generally, a good while ago, was Tony Smithson."

"But if the lodgings were to be let, he must of course be gone,"

cried Dr. Wilton; "and we are as far off from the facts as ever."

"Oh! he is gone, sure enough!" answered the officer. "That was

the first thing I asked the old woman, and she told me that he went
the very day before the terrible murder, and that he would be so
sorry to hear it, for he used often to walk up that way, and asked
her many questions about Mr. Tims, poor old man. Well, when I
heard this, and had got a good deal more out of her, I thought I
might as well look through the place, for these sort of folks generally
are in too great a hurry not to leave something behind them; and I
opened all the drawers and places--and the old woman thought it
very strange, till I told her who I was. He had cleared all away,
however, except this gold thimble, which had fallen half way down
between the drawers and the wall. It has got 'J. D.' upon it, which, I
take it, means 'Something Darlington.' So it must have been prigged
at the time of the fire."

Dr. Wilton and Mr. Egerton both looked at the thimble, and felt
convinced that it belonged to Mrs. Darlington. At all events, the
information which Cousins had obtained, was of course most
important, as it rendered it more than probable that one at least of
the persons who had robbed, if not fired the house upon the hill,
had been also a principal in the murder of the miser. Both the
magistrates, therefore, joined in giving high commendations to the
officer, and particular directions were added for prosecuting the
investigation. Cousins, however, had already anticipated several of
the orders he now received.

"I tried all I could, sir," he replied, "to find out some of the
fellow's stray boots or shoes but he had left none behind. I then
went to all the different shoemakers and cobblers to see if any of
them could give me his measure; but he had been too cunning for
that. The stage coachman, however, remembered taking him up
here for London, and setting him down, by his own desire, at a little
public-house four miles off; so that we have got upon the right
scent, beyond doubt; and if you will give me permission, gentlemen,
I will go out this evening, and find out whom he most kept company
with in this place, before the matter gets blown. I have had a good
pumping to-night already; but it would not do."

"And pray, who took the trouble of pumping you, Cousins!" asked
Mr. Egerton. "Though this is the most gossiping town in Europe, I
should have thought there was roguery enough in it also, to keep
the inhabitants from meddling unnecessarily with a police officer."

"Oh, it was none of the people of the place, sir!" replied Cousins.
"They only stared at me. This was the Mr. Tims who gave the
captain in charge, I hear. He seems a sharp hand, and he has a
great good will to prove the captain guilty, though I don't see, just
yet, what good it could do him either."

Dr. Wilton asked several questions concerning the lawyer, and the
examination to which he had subjected the officer; and then--after
shaking his head, and observing that he believed Mr. Peter Tims to
be a great rogue--he dismissed Cousins to pursue his inquiries in the
town.

It must be here remarked that Mr. Egerton, although he knew

William Delaware personally, and did not think him at all a person to
commit the crime with which he was charged, had never felt that
assured confidence in his innocence which Dr. Wilton had always
experienced. It was not, indeed, that Mr. Egerton thought worse of
Captain Delaware individually than the clergyman did, but he
thought worse of the whole human race. Gradually, however, he had
been coming over to Dr. Wilton's opinion; and his conversation that
night with the officer had completely made a convert of him, by
showing him that, notwithstanding the one extraordinary
circumstance which remained yet to be explained, every new fact
that was elicited tended more and more to prove that the murder
had been committed by persons of a very different class and habits
from the supposed delinquent. Feeling, therefore, that in some
degree he had done the unfortunate gentleman injustice, he now
determined to redouble his exertions to apprehend the real culprits,
in the hope and expectation of clearing the character of Captain
Delaware. With this view, he resolved to remain at Emberton that
night, contrary to his former plans; and he proposed to Dr. Wilton to
visit the old miser's house at Ryebury the next morning, in order to
verify the footmarks, as measured by Cousins, lest the new
proprietor might think fit, after the funeral, which was to take place
at four that day, to have all traces of the horrid scene effaced, which
he might do for more reasons than one, if the malevolence Captain
Delaware charged him with were really his motive.

"Why, the truth is," replied Dr. Wilton, in answer to this proposal,
"that I intended to go very early to-morrow to Mrs. Darlington's, to
see poor Blanche Delaware, and try to discover whether she can
give any clew by which Henry Beauchamp can be found."

"Is it likely that she should possess any?" said Mr. Egerton,
laughing.

"Why, they are cousins, you know," answered Dr. Wilton, with a
smile which served to contradict the reason that his words seemed
to assign for the knowledge of her cousin's movements which he
attributed to Miss Delaware. "They are cousins, you know, and I
have heard it reported that there was something more--but, at all
events, I am anxious about the lad, and do not choose to leave any
chance of discovering him untried."

"But, by the way, I forgot," said Mr. Egerton, "I heard an hour or
two ago that Sir Sidney and Miss Delaware had left Mrs.
Darlington's, and had gone to some watering-place, I think the
people said."

"Oh, no, impossible!" said Dr. Wilton. "Impossible! they would

have let me hear, as a matter of course." Nevertheless, he rose and
rang the bell, although, so convinced was he of the truth of what he
asserted, that, ere the waiter appeared, he had proceeded to
arrange with Mr. Egerton, that while that gentleman went to
Ryebury, and verified the traces which Cousins had observed, he
would drive to Mrs. Darlington's, and make the inquiries he
proposed.

"Pray, have you heard any thing of Sir Sidney Delaware having left
Mrs. Darlington's new house?" demanded Dr. Wilton, when the
waiter appeared.

"Oh, dear, yes, sir!" replied the man. "Mr. Tims--Lawyer Tims, sir--
who was there this morning, could find none of them, and has been
inquiring all over the place to make out where they are gone to. But
nobody can tell, sir, and every one says they have run away."

"Nonsense!" said Mr. Egerton; "that will do!" and the waiter
retired.

"This is very extraordinary!" said Dr. Wilton. "Every one seems to

be disappearing one after the other. Nevertheless, I will go up and
inquire of Mrs. Darlington, and will come and join you at Ryebury
afterward."

The meeting was accordingly arranged, and shortly after, Cousins

returned, bringing a vast store of fresh information. Mr. Anthony
Smithson, alias Thomson, alias Perkins, alias Johnson, alias Winter,
fully described and particularized, so as to leave no doubt whatever
of his identity with crushfingered Billy Winter, a notorious London
flashman, had been remarked, by all the wondermongers of
Emberton, for his intimacy with Mr. Harding, Mr. Burrel's servant. He
had been also observed to have a peculiar predilection for the lanes
and fields about the house at Ryebury. This information had led the
officers to fresh inquiries concerning the philosophical Harding
himself, who had been accurately described by the investigating and
observing people of Emberton; and, on his return, Cousins
expressed his fullest conviction, that he was the identical Harding
who had, as he before described, got off in a serious criminal case,
solely by the connivance of an attorney. Who that attorney was,
need hardly be explained; and indeed, to do so, would only lead us
into the details of a previous affair, totally unconnected with this
history. Suffice it, that no sooner did Cousins hear that Harding had
been with his master, at the house of Mrs. Darlington, on the day of
the fire, than he at once declared himself to be perfectly certain that
his hands, and no others, had kindled the flame. He added also, that
he did not doubt that Smithson and Harding--whether they had
exactly fixed upon any precise object or not--had come down to
Emberton, with the intention of acting in concert; and he added,
that it would not at all surprise him to find that they were the two
who committed the murder itself, especially as the people had
particularly described to him the valet's long foot.

While he was speaking, Dr. Wilton rapidly turned over his notes of
the examination of Captain Delaware, and the servants at Emberton
Park, and at length lighted upon the declaration of the man-servant,
who stated, that in returning from some errand in that direction, he
had seen the valet Harding at the back of the park, the lanes
surrounding which led directly toward Ryebury.

"If I could think of any reason for his putting the money in the
captain's room," said Cousins, as the clergyman read this passage, "I
should think that Harding had done it himself, on purpose to hang
him."

"May he not have been instigated to do it by others?" said Mr.

Egerton.

"If one could find out any reason for it," replied the officer.
 "Why, Captain Delaware suspected something of the kind
himself," replied the magistrate, and he read a part of the young
fugitive's letter, watching from time to time, as he did so, the effect
it produced upon the countenance of a man who, like Cousins, was
accustomed to trace and encounter crime in every form. The officer
closed one eye, put his tongue slightly into his cheek, and ended by
a half whistle.

"You had better look to it, gentleman." he said; "you had better
look to it--such things have been done before now--so you had
better look to it!"

"We will!" answered Dr. Wilton; "we will! let us see you to-morrow
about nine, Cousins."

The officer took the hint, and withdrew.

CHAPTER XXVI.

Oh, that I had the lucid arrangement of the late Lord Tenderden,
or the happy illustration of Francis Jeffrey, or the _curiosa felicitas_
of George Gordon Byron, or the nervous vein of Gifford, or the
elegant condensation of Lockhart, or any of the peculiar powers of
any of the great men of past or future ages, to help me to make this
chapter both interesting and brief; for there are several facts to
state, and small space to state them in; and--what is worse than all-
-they are so dry and pulverized, that they are enough to give any
one who meddles with them, what the Spaniard gracefully terms a
"_retortijon de tripas_." As, however, they are absolutely necessary
to the clear understanding of what is to follow, I will at once place
them all in order together, leaving the reader to swallow them in any
vehicle he may think fit.

First, then, on his visit to Mrs. Darlington, Dr. Wilton obtained no

information whatever, except that the tidings he had before heard
were true. Sir Sidney Delaware and his daughter, Mrs. Darlington
said, had indeed left her; but they had requested, as a particular
favor, that she would not even inquire whither they were going; and,
as the favor was a very small one, she had granted it of course.
From the house of that worthy lady, Dr. Wilton proceeded to join Mr.
Egerton at Ryebury, where--according to their own request--they
were met by the coroner for the county. All the traces which had
been observed by Cousins were verified, and a complete plan of the
scene of the murder was made under the direction of the
magistrates.

A long conference took place at the same time between the two
justices and the coroner, who expressed less dissatisfaction at the
escape of Captain Delaware than they had expected.

"We must share the blame between us, gentlemen," he said.

"You, for not having remanded him to some secure place, I, for not
having sent him five-and-twenty miles that night to the county jail.
Certain it is, the case was a very doubtful one, and I would fain have
had the jury adjourn till the following morning. But in truth," he
added, "coroners' juries, knowing that their decision is not final, and
disgusted and agitated by the horrible scenes they are obliged to
examine, very often return a hasty and ill-considered verdict, in spite
of all the officers of the crown can do. This was, I am afraid, the
case in the present instance; and I have no doubt that the young
man has made his escape more from apprehension of a long and
painful imprisonment--which is a severe punishment in itself--than
from any consciousness of guilt."
 Finding his opinion thus far favorable, the two magistrates
communicated to the crown-officer all that they had discovered in
regard to Harding and Smithson, and also the faint suspicion which
they entertained, that Harding, at the instigation of Mr. Tims, junior,
had placed the money in the chamber of Captain Delaware.

The coroner, however, shook his head. "As to Harding and

Smithson," he said, "the matter is sufficiently made out to justify us
in issuing warrants for their apprehension; and Harding may
perhaps--from some motive we know nothing of--have placed the
money as you suspect, especially as he seems to have been well
acquainted with Emberton Park; but I do not believe that Mr. Tims
had any thing to do with it. To suppose so, would at once lead us to
the conclusion that he was an accomplice in the murder of his uncle;
and his whole conduct gave the lie to that. No--no--had he even
known that his uncle was dead before he came here, his whole
actual behavior afterward would have been very different. He did not
affect any great sorrow for his uncle, as he would have done had he
been at all culpable; but, at the same time, he was evidently
vindictive in the highest degree against the murderers. No--no--you
are mistaken there, gentlemen! But let us issue warrants against the
other two, and intrust their execution to Cousins. We shall easily be
able to get at the truth in regard to Captain Delaware from one of
those gentry, if we can but catch them."

While the warrants were in preparation, it was announced to the

magistrates that Mr. Peter Tims himself was below, with the
undertakers; and, also, that the constable of a neighboring parish
had brought up a boy who had found a hat upon the sea-shore,
which, it was supposed, might throw some light upon the matter
before the magistrates.

Mr. Tims was accordingly directed to wait, while the boy was
brought up, and the hat examined. The peculiarity of its form--a
form unknown in Emberton--and of its color--a shade of that light
russet-brown in which Shakspeare clothes the dawn for her
morning's walk at once led Dr. Wilton to believe that it had belonged
to his unfortunate friend, Henry Beauchamp. As Beauchamp,
however, was not one of those men who write their names in their
hats, the matter still remained in the most unpleasant state in the
world--a state of doubt; and such a state being not less disagreeable
to Dr. Wilton than to any one else--after catechising the boy, and
discovering that nothing was to be discovered, except that the hat
had been washed on shore at about five miles' distance from
Ryebury, of which washing it bore ample marks--the worthy
clergyman left his companions in magistracy to expedite the
warrants, and returned in person to Emberton, in order to examine
Mrs. Wilson, Beauchamp's late landlady, in regard to the hat, which
he carried thither along with him.

As soon as Mrs. Wilson saw it, she declared that it was the
identical hat that poor dear Mr. Burrel used always to wear in the
morning. She had seen it, she said, full a hundred times, and knew
it, because the leather in the inside was laced with a silk tag, for all
the world like the bodices she could remember when she was young.
Eagerly, also, did she question Dr. Wilton as to where it had been
found; for it seems that Mr. Burrel had been no small favorite with
the old lady; and when she was made acquainted with the facts, she
wrung her hands, declaring that she was sure the poor young
gentleman had gone and drowned himself for love of Miss Delaware.
Now, Dr. Wilton had at his heart entertained a sort of vague
suspicion that Beauchamp, notwithstanding all his strong moral and
religious principles, might--in a moment of despair, and in that
fancied disgust at the world, which he was somewhat too apt to
pamper--do some foolish act. Perhaps I should have said that he
_feared_ it might be so; and, as he would rather have believed any
other thing and was very angry at himself for supposing it possible,
he was, of course, still more angry at good Mrs. Wilson for so
strongly confirming his apprehensions. He scolded her very heartily,
therefore, for imagining what he had before imagined himself; and
was just leaving her house, when he bethought him of making
inquiries concerning the haunts and behavior of Mr. Burrel's valet,
Harding. To his questions on this head, Mrs. Wilson--though a little
indignant at the reprimand she had received--replied in the most
clear and distinct manner, that Harding had never kept company
with any one but Mr. Smithson, the chemist gentleman, who lodged
farther up the town; that no one scarcely ever heard the sound of
his voice; and that, for her part, so queer were his ways, that she
should have thought that he was a conjuror, if he had not been a
gentleman's servant--which two occupations she mistakenly
imagined to be incompatible.

Dr. Wilton next inquired what was the size of the valet's foot, at
which Mrs. Wilson looked aghast, demanding, "Lord! how should she
know what was the size of the gentleman's foot? But stay," she cried
the moment after, "Stay, stay, sir! Now I think of it, I can tell to a
cheeseparing; for in the hurry that he went away in, he left a pair of
boots behind him; and the groom, when he set off the morning
after, would not take them, because he said Mr. Harding was always
_jawing_ him, and meddling with his business, and some day or
another he would tell him a thing or two."

Dr. Wilton demanded an immediate sight of the boots, with all the
eagerness of a connoisseur, and with much satisfaction beheld a
leathern foot bag, of extraordinary length, brought in by the
landlady, who declared, as she entered, that "he had a very long
foot after all."

The boot was immediately carried off to the inn; but as Mr.
Egerton had the measurements with him at Ryebury, Dr. Wilton was
obliged to wait one mortal hour and a half ere he could proceed to
ascertain the correspondence of the valet's boot with the bloody
mark of the murderer's foot, tormenting himself about Beauchamp in
the mean while. After waiting that time, however, in fretful
incertitude, as to going to the place itself, or staying his fellow-
magistrate's return, Mr. Egerton appeared, the paper on which the
footmarks had been traced was produced, and the boot being set
down thereon, filled up one of the vacant spaces without the
difference of a line.

"Now, now, we have him!" cried Dr. Wilton, rubbing his hands
eagerly; "Now we have him. Beyond all question, the counsel for the
crown will permit the least criminal to become king's evidence, and I
doubt not, in the slightest degree, that we shall find poor William
Delaware completely exculpated."

"You call to my mind, my dear friend," said Mr. Egerton, laying his
hand on Di. Wilton's arm, as if to stop his transports--"you call to my
mind a waggish receipt for dressing a strange dish."

"How so? how so?" demanded Dr. Wilton, with a subdued smile at
the reproof of his eagerness, which he knew was coming in some
shape or other. "What is your receipt, my dear sir?"

"It runs thus," answered Mr. Egerton, "_How to dress a griffin_--

First, catch a griffin!--and then, dress him any way you like!"

"Well, well!" answered Dr. Wilton, "we will try to catch the griffin,
my dear sir, and you shall not find me wanting in ardor to effect the
preliminary step, if you will aid me to bring about the second, and let
me dress my griffin when I have caught him. To say the truth," he
added, relapsing into grave seriousness, "the subject is not a
laughing one; and I am afraid I have suffered my personal feelings
to become somewhat too keenly interested--perhaps to a degree of
levity. God knows, there is little reason for us to be eager in the
matter, except from a desire that, by the punishment of the guilty,
the innocent should be saved; and I am willing to confess, that I
entertain not the slightest doubt of the innocence of William
Delaware. A crime has certainly been committed by some one; and
according to all the laws of God and man, it is one which should be
punished most severely. Heaven forbid, however, that I should treat
such a matter with levity. All I meant to say is, that if we do succeed
in apprehending the real murderers, we must endeavor to make
their conviction the means of clearly exculpating the innocent."

"I hope we shall be as successful as you could wish," replied Mr.

Egerton; "and I think it would give me scarcely less pleasure than it
would give yourself, to hear that Captain Delaware is innocent,
although I will not suffer either a previous good character, or a
gallant deportment, or a handsome countenance to weigh with me,
except as presumptive testimony in his favor, and as a caution to
myself to be on my guard against the natural predilections of man's
heart. But what have you discovered regarding the hat?"

"Confirmation, I am afraid, too strong, of my worst fears,"

answered Dr. Wilton; and he related how positively Mrs. Wilson had
declared it to have belonged to Mr. Beauchamp. Measures for
investigating this event also, were immediately taken, and
information of the supposed death, by drowning, of a gentleman
lately residing at Emberton, was given to all the stations on that
coast. This new catastrophe, of course, furnished fresh food to the
gossiping propensities of the people of the town; and the tale,
improved by the rich and prolific imaginations of its inhabitants, was
sent forth connected by a thousand fine and filmy links with the
murder of the miser, and the disappearance of the Delaware family.
It instantly appeared in all the public prints, who, to do them but
justice, were far too charitable to leave it in its original nakedness.
Hence it was transferred, with new scenery, dresses, and
decorations, to a broad sheet of very thin paper, and distributed by a
man, with a loud voice, on the consideration of one halfpenny, to
wondering housemaids, and keepers of chandler's shops, under the
taking title of the "Ryebury Tragedy!" and there is strong reason to
believe that it was alone owing to the temporary difficulties of Mr. ---
-, of the ---- theater, that Captain William Delaware was not brought
upon the boards, with a knife in his hand, cutting the throat of the
miser, while Henry Beauchamp threw himself from the rocks into the
sea, for love of the murderer's sister. That this theatrical
consummation did not take place is much to be wondered at; and it
is to be hoped that, when the managers are furnished with all the
correct particulars, they will give the public their version of the
matter on every stage from Drury Lane to the very barn at Emberton
itself.

As may be easily supposed, for two country magistrates, Dr.

Wilton and Mr. Egerton had now their hands tolerably full; and
consequently, on separating, they agreed to meet again at Emberton
in two days. In the mean time, the funeral of the murdered man
took place, conducted, as Mr. Peter Tims assured every body, with
that attention to economy which would have been gratifying to the
deceased himself, could he have witnessed it. Nobody could doubt
that the nephew had probability on his side in this respect, though
the undertaker grumbled, and the mercer called him a shabby
person. After the interment, Mr. Tims took possession of the
premises and the papers of the deceased; but, for reasons that may
be easily divined, he did not choose to stay in the dwelling that his
uncle had inhabited. Passing the ensuing evening and night at the
inn, he had all the papers removed thither, and continued in the
examination thereof for many an hour, in a room from which even
his own clerk was excluded. Those who saw him afterward, declared
that his countenance was as resplendent as a new sovereign; but he
selfishly kept all his joy to his own bosom; and, after spending
another day in Emberton, he set off post for London, with many a
bag and tin case, to take out letters of administration.

CHAPTER XXVII.
 Lord Ashborough left his niece, Maria Beauchamp, and the chief
part of his establishment, in the country; and setting out with but
two servants, arrived in the metropolis late on Saturday night. With
that attention to decorum and propriety which formed a chief point
in his minor policy, he appeared, on the Sunday morning, in the
gallery of St. George's Church, Hanover-square, exactly as the organ
sounded, and with grave and devout face, passed through the next
two hours. But let it not be supposed that the impressive service of
the Church of England, read even in its most impressive manner,
occupied his thoughts, or that even the eloquence of a Hodgson
caught his ear and affected his heart. It was only the flesh-and-
blood tenement of Lord Ashborough that was at church; Lord
Ashborough himself, in heart and in spirit, was in his library in
Grosvenor-square, eagerly conversing with Mr. Peter Tims on the
best means of snatching the last spoils of his enemy, Sir Sidney
Delaware. Not that Lord Ashborough did not go to church with the
full and clear purpose of doing his duty; but people's ideas of doing
their duty are so very various, that he thought the going to church
quite enough--without attending.

Now, in spite of risking a _longueur_, we must observe, that there

are some people, who, although they live in great opposition to the
doctrines they hear, nevertheless deserve a certain degree of honor
for going to church, because they persevere in doing so, though the
two hours they spend there are the most tiresome of their whole
lives. Attribute it to resolution, or sense of decency, or what you will,
still some honor is their due; but we are sorry to say that no such
plea could be set up in favor of Lord Ashborough. The two hours
that he spent at church were not tedious; he had the comfortable
persuasion that he was doing his duty, and setting a good example;
and, at the same time, had a fair opportunity of thinking over all his
plans and projects for the ensuing week, without any chance of
interruption. Thus, the time he spent within the holy walls, was a
time of calm and pleasant reflection, and what profit he derived from
it, the rest of his life must show. At all events, there was nothing
disagreeable in it. It was a part of the pomp and parade of
existence, and he went through it all with a degree of equanimity
that took away every kind of merit from the act.

Before he had concluded his breakfast on the Monday morning, a

servant announced that Mr. Peter Tims had been shown into the
library; and thither Lord Ashborough bent his steps, after he had
kept the lawyer waiting long enough to preserve his dignity and
show his indifference.

Mr. Peter Tims was seated in the far corner of the library with
great humility, and rose instantly on the peer's entrance, bowing to
the ground. Now, the fact was--and it may need some explanation--
that Mr. Tims found he was growing a great man, in his own
estimation, on the wealth he derived from his uncle. He had just
discovered that pride was beginning to get above avarice in his
heart, and he became afraid. that Lord Ashborough might think he
was deviating into too great familiarity, from feeling a strong
inclination in his own bosom to do so. Such a consummation was, of
course, not desirable on many accounts; and with his usual politic
shrewdness, Peter Tims resolved to assume a far greater degree of
humility than he really felt, and--while by other means he raised
himself slowly in the estimation both of his noble patron and the
world in general, suffering his newly-acquired wealth silently to act
with its own weight--and determined to affect still a tone of ample
subserviency till his objects were fully gained.

In the mean while, Lord Ashborough, who believed that a gulf as

wide as that which yawned in the Forum lay between himself and
Peter Tims, bespoke the lawyer with condescending civility, bade him
take a seat and inquired what news he had brought from Emberton.

Mr. Peter Tims hesitated, and then replied, that the news he
brought was bad, in every respect. "In the first place, my lord, I
have not been able to stop any of the rents, for they had
unfortunately been paid on the day preceding my return to
Emberton. In the next place, it would appear that Sir Sidney
Delaware has run away as well as his son; for he has certainly
disappeared, and, notwithstanding every means I could use, I was
not able to discover any trace of him."

He had imagined that Lord Ashborough would have expressed

nothing but disappointment at tidings which threatened to make his
views upon the Emberton estate more vague and difficult of success;
but he was mistaken. The first passion in the peer's breast was
revenge. The picture presented to him was Sidney Delaware flying
from his country, disgraced, ruined, and blighted in mind and body.
Memory strode over three-and-twenty years in an instant, and
showed him the same man as he had then appeared--his successful
rival triumphing in his disappointment. Placing the portrait of the
present and the past together, the peer again tasted the joy of
revenge, and mentally ate his enemy's heart in the market-place. For
a moment, avarice gave place to revenge; but, after all, avarice is
the most durable and permanent of human passions. Like Sinbad's
Old Man of the Sea, it gets upon the back of every thing else that
invades its own domain, and never leaves them till they die of
inanition. Ambition sometimes gorges itself; pride is occasionally
brought down; vanity tires, and love grows cold; but avarice, once
possessed of the human heart, may be driven into the inmost
recesses for a moment, but never quits the citadel, and always,
sooner or later, regains the outworks.

"Will this make any difference with regard to our proceedings

against the old man and his son?" demanded the peer, after he had
given revenge its moment, and had suffered avarice to return.

"Not at all, as respects the son!" answered Mr. Tims; "but I am

afraid that, in the father's case, it may occasion some delays. You
see, my lord, not knowing where he is, we can not serve him with
process. In regard to the son, too, you see, my lord, nothing can be
discovered--not the slightest trace. However, I doubt not that we
shall be able to fit him with a law that will secure your lordship the
reversion. But I am afraid, my lord, I have still worse news in store
for you. Grieved I am to be such a croaking raven in your lordship's
ears, and thus to--"

"Do me the favor, then, my good sir," said Lord Ashborough,

cutting across his figures of speech impatiently, "to make your
croaking as brief as possible; and without circumlocution, to tell me
what is the matter."

"I would first ask your lordship," said Mr. Tims, who had a great
opinion of the foolish plan of breaking bad tidings by degrees--"I
would first ask your lordship, if you have lately heard from Mr.
Beauchamp?"

"Oh, is that all?" said Lord Ashborough. "I told you before, and I
tell you again, Mr. Tims, there is no more chance of her marrying
Henry Beauchamp, than there is of my marrying my walking-stick."

"But it is not that, my lord!" cried Mr. Tims. "It is not that at all! I
am afraid Mr. Beauchamp is drowned!"

Lord Ashborough started from his chair, pale and aghast, with a
complication of painful feelings which Mr. Tims had little thought
could be excited by the death of any living thing. But the lawyer
made the common mistake of generalizing too broadly. He had
fancied that his patron was calmly callous to every thing but what
immediately affected himself, and he was mistaken; for it is
improbable that there ever was a man whose heart, if we could have
traced all its secret chambers and intricate windings, did not
somewhere contain a store, however small, of gentle feelings and
affections. Lord Ashborough loved his nephew, though probably
Henry Beauchamp was the only human being he did sincerely love.
In him all the better affections of his heart had centered.

Lord Ashborough had also loved his brother, Beauchamp's father;

and, in early life, when the heart is soft, he had done him many a
kindness, which--as they were, perhaps, the only truly generous
actions of his life--made him love his brother still more, as the object
that had excited them. Neither, in the whole course of their lives did
there occur one unfortunate point of rivalry between them; and Mr.
Beauchamp, or rather Governor Beauchamp, as he was at last
generally called, felt so deeply the various acts of friendship which
his brother had shown to him, and him alone, in all the world, that
he took the best way of expressing hie gratitude, namely, by making
Lord Ashborough on all occasions appear to advantage, giving way
to his pride, putting the most favorable construction on his actions,
and never opposing him in words, however differently he might
shape his own conduct. Thus the love of his brother remained
unshaken and increasing, till the last day of Governor Beauchamp's
life; and at his death it was transferred to his son, rendered indeed
more tender, but not decreased, by regret for the father, and by the
softening power of memory.

It is sad to think that any less noble feelings should have mingled
with these purer affections, even though they might tend to increase
the intensity of his affection for Henry Beauchamp. It would be far
more grateful to the mind to let this redeeming point stand out
resplendent in the character of the peer; but we are telling truth,
and it must not be. The shadow, however, perhaps, is a slight one;
but it was pride of two kinds that gave the full height to Lord
Ashborough's love for Beauchamp. In the first place, to his titles and
estates there was no other heir than Henry Beauchamp. There was
not even any collateral line of male descent, which could have
perpetuated the earldom, if his nephew had been removed. Henry
Beauchamp dead, and the peer saw himself the last Lord
Ashborough. In him, therefore, had centered all the many vague,
and, we might almost call them, _mysterious_, feelings of interest
with which we regard the being destined to carry on our race and
name into the long futurity. Family pride, then, tended to increase
the earl's affection for his nephew; but there was pride also of
another kind concerned. Lord Ashborough admired Henry
Beauchamp as well as loved him; and, strange to say, admired him,
not only for the qualities which they possessed in common, but for
the qualities which his nephew possessed, and which he himself did
not. They were both good horsemen, and Lord Ashborough had
been in his youth, like Henry Beauchamp, skilled in all manly
exercises, had been elegant in his manners, and graceful in his
person; but light wit, a fertile imagination, a generous disposition,
were qualities that the earl had never possessed; and yet he was
gratified beyond measure that his nephew did possess them,
delighted in the admiration they called upon him, and was proud of
the heir to his fortune and his name.

All these facts had been overlooked by Mr. Tims, whose mind,
though of the same kind of web as that of his patron, was of a
grosser texture; and not a little was he surprised and frightened
when he beheld the effect which his abrupt tidings produced upon
the earl.

Lord Ashborough turned deadly pale, and, staggering up, rang the
bell violently. Mr. Tims would have spoken, but the earl waved his
hand for him to be silent: and when the servant appeared,
exclaimed, "The drops out of my dressing-room! Quick!"

The man disappeared, but returned in a moment with vial and

glass; and pouring out a few drops, Lord Ashborough swallowed
them hastily; and then, leaning his head upon his hand, paused for a
minute or two, while the servant stood silent beside him, and the
lawyer gazed upon him in horror and astonishment. In a short time
the peer's color returned; and, giving a nod to the servant, who was
evidently not unaccustomed to scenes somewhat similar, he said,
"You may go!"

"Now, Mr. Tims," he continued, when the door was once more
closed, "what were you telling me? But first, let me say you should
be more cautious in making such communications. Do you not know
that I am subject to spasms of the heart, which are always brought
on by any sudden affection of the mind!"
 Mr. Tims apologized, and declared his ignorance, and vowed he
would not have done such a thing for the world, _et cetera_; but
Lord Ashborough soon stopped him, and demanded, with some
impatience, what had given rise to the apprehension he had
expressed. The lawyer, then, with circumlocution, if not with
delicacy, proceeded to state the rumors that he had heard at
Emberton, which had been confirmed to him by Mrs. Wilson, namely,
that Mr. Beauchamp's hat had been washed on shore on the sea-side
not far from that place. He had found it his duty, he said, to make
inquiries, especially as the good landlady had declared that the
young gentleman had appeared very melancholy and "out of sorts"
on the day he left her. No other part of Mr. Beauchamp's apparel had
been found except a glove, which was picked up on the road leading
from Emberton to a little fishing village, not far off.

"There is one sad fact, my lord, however," continued the lawyer,

"which gives me great apprehension. I, myself, in the course of my
inquiries, discovered Mr. Beauchamp's beautiful hunter, Martindale, in
the hands of a poor pot-house keeper, in the village about three
miles, or not so much, from Emberton. This man and his servants
were the last persons who saw your nephew. He came there, it
appears, late one evening on horseback, asked they had a good dry
stable, put up his horse, saw it properly attended to, and then
walked out, looking very grave and disconsolate, the man said. I
found that this person knew the horse's name; and, when I asked
him how he had learned it, for he did not know Mr. Beauchamp at
all, he said that the gentleman, just before he went, had patted the
horse's neck, and said, 'My poor Martindale! I must take care of you,
however.'"

Lord Ashborough listened with a quivering lip and haggard eye, as

Mr. Tims proceeded with his tale. "Have you been at his house?" he
demanded, as the other concluded.

"I went there the first thing this morning, my lord," replied Mr.
Tims; "but I am very sorry to say, none of his servants know any
thing whatever in regard to him. They all say they have been
expecting him in town every day for the last week."

Lord Ashborough again rang the bell.--"Order horses to the

carriage immediately!" he said, when the servant appeared; "and go
on to Marlborough-street with my compliments to Sir George F----,
and a request that he would send me an experienced officer, who
can go down with me into the country directly. Mr. Tims, I must
inquire into this business myself. I leave you here behind to take
every measure that is necessary; but, above all things, remember
that you have ten thousand pounds to pay into the hands of poor
Beauchamp's agents. Do not fail to do it in the course of to-day; and
explain to them that the business of the bill was entirely owing to
forgetfulness. Let all the expenses be paid, and clear away that
business at once. I am almost sorry that it was ever done."

"And about Sir Sidney Delaware, my lord?" said Mr. Tims. "What--
"

"Proceed against him instantly!" interrupted the peer, setting his

teeth firm, "Proceed against him instantly, by every means, and all
means! The same with his son! Leave not a stone unturned to bring
him to justice, or punish him for contumacy. If it had not been for
those two villains, and their damned intrigues, this would not have
happened to poor Henry!"

Thus do men deceive themselves; and thus those things that,

would they listen to conscience instead of desire, might become
warnings and reproofs, they turn to apologies for committing fresh
wrongs, and fuel to feed the fire of their passions into a blaze. The
observation may be common-place, but it is true; and let the man
who does not do so, call it trite, if he will--no one else has a right.

It was evident that the earl was in no placable mood; and Mr.
Tims, though he had much yet to speak of, and many a plan to
propose, in order to overcome those legal difficulties to the design
he had suggested, which were now springing up rapidly to his mind,
yet thought it expedient to put off the discussion of the whole till his
noble patron was in a more fitting humor, not a little apprehensive
that, if he touched upon the matter at present, the earl's anger
might turn upon himself, for discovering obstacles in a path which he
had formerly represented as smooth and easy. He therefore
contented himself with asking a few more directions; and leaving
Lord Ashborough, proceeded straight to Doctors' Commons to make
the necessary arrangements concerning his uncle's property. That
done, he visited the Stamp-office; his business there being of no
small consequence to himself. It was neither more nor less than to
cause a paper to be stamped, which he had found among other
documents belonging to his uncle, which acknowledged the receipt
of the sum of ten thousand pounds from Mr. Tims, of Ryebury, and
was signed by Henry Beauchamp.

Considerable difficulties were offered at the Stamp-office to the

immediate legalization of this paper; but Mr. Tims was so completely
aware of every legal point, and through Lord Ashborough's business,
was so well known at the office, that it was at length completed, and
he turned his steps toward the house of Messrs. Steelyard and
Wilkinson, who had lately become the law-agents of Henry
Beauchamp. Before he had gone above half a mile on the road
thither, he pulled the check-string of the hackney-coach in which he
was seated, and bade the man drive to Clement's Inn. This was
immediately done; and Mr. Tims entered his chambers, and retired
into its utmost recesses, to pause upon and consider the step that
he had just been about to take.

This was no other than to wait upon Messrs. Steelyard and

Wilkinson, and tender them Mr. Beauchamp's stamped
acknowledgment of the receipt of ten thousand pounds from his
uncle, in discharge of the ten thousand pounds which he had been
directed to pay by Lord Ashborough, appropriating to himself, as his
uncle's heir, the money which was thus left in his hands. The matter
was susceptible of various points of view; for, though the law does
not recognize the principle of any man helping himself in such a
manner, yet we are informed by those who know better than
ourselves, that it is very difficult, under many circumstances, to
prevent him from doing so. There was one point, however, which
greatly incommoded Mr. Tims--namely, that the acknowledgment in
Mr. Beauchamp's hand was dated on the very day of the Ryebury
murder, and thereby offered a strong presumption, that the money
had really been placed in Captain Delaware's chamber by his cousin.
Many important consequences might ensue, should Mr. Beauchamp
reappear, and declare such to have been the fact; and although Mr.
Tims sincerely hoped and trusted that he was at the bottom of the
sea, yet, as it might happen that he was not, the lawyer, with
laudable precaution sat down to state to himself the results which
would take place, in each of the two cases, if he were now to
present his acknowledgment.

He found, therefore, that should Mr. Beauchamp never be heard

of more, the case would go on against Captain Delaware, the suit in
Chancery might proceed against Sir Sidney Delaware, the twenty-
five thousand pounds he had got would remain in his hands, and, by
presenting the acknowledgment, he would be enabled to retain
possession of ten thousand pounds more. All this, therefore, was in
favor of acting as he had determined.

On the other hand, if Mr. Beauchamp did reappear--which he did

not think likely--he began to suspect that Captain Delaware would be
cleared, that the twenty-five thousand pounds would be transferred
to Lord Ashborough, that the Emberton estate would be freed from
all incumbrance, and that he would undoubtedly lose the twelve
thousand pounds which had been stolen from his uncle, as well as
Lord Ashborough's favor and business. "The more reason," he
thought, "why I should immediately get this money, which
undoubtedly did belong to my uncle! But, can I then continue the
process against Captain Delaware," he continued, "with such a
strong presumption of his innocence in my own hands?"--and he
looked at the note, which nearly amounted to positive proof--"But
what have I to do with that? It does not absolutely prove his
innocence. The coroner's inquest has returned its verdict, and the
law must take its course; besides, Henry Beauchamp is at the
bottom of the sea, and a jury of fishes sitting on his own body by
this time--Pshaw! I will present the acknowledgment to-morrow."

This doughty resolution Mr. Tims accordingly fulfilled, and at noon

waited in person on Messrs. Steelyard and Wilkinson. He was shown
into the private room of the latter, a seat was placed for him, and his
business was asked.

"Why, Mr. Wilkinson," he replied, "I have first to explain to you an

uncommonly awkward blunder, which took place by some
forgetfulness on the part of my noble friend and client, the Earl of
Ashborough, who, not adverting to the arrangements made between
us, did not leave assets in my office to pay the bill drawn by you on
Mr. Beauchamp's account. Had I been in town myself," he added
feeling wealthy, "of course I would have supplied the money; but I,
like my noble friend and client, was out of town till yesterday."

"Rather unfortunate, indeed, Mr. Tims!" replied Mr. Wilkinson,

dryly, "especially as Mr. Beauchamp drew for the money. His letter
was couched in such terms as to permit of our handing over the
assets that were in our hands; but we can not tell that he has not
been put to great inconvenience. Lord Ashborough's note was of
course protested--here it is! I hope you have come to retire it."

"I am directed by my Lord Ashborough to do so," answered the

lawyer; "but I rather imagine that Mr. Beauchamp could not be put
to much inconvenience; for I find by this document that he has
obtained that sum, and four hundred and thirty-two pounds more,
from my late unfortunate uncle, to whose property I have taken out
letters of administration, and therefore, retaining the ten thousand
pounds now in hand, I request you would hand me over the four
hundred and thirty-two pounds at your convenience, when I will give
you a receipt in full."
 "Sir, this is somewhat unprecedented," replied Mr. Wilkinson, "and
I think you will find that money can not thus be stopped, _in
transit_, without form of law. Such proceedings, if once admitted,
would open a door to the most scandalous abuses. You acknowledge
that you are commissioned to pay us this money, on account of Lord
Ashborough. Having done so, you will have every right to present
your claim against Mr. Beauchamp, which will of course, be
immediately examined and attended to."

Mr. Tims replied, and Mr. Wilkinson rejoined; but as it is more

than probable that the reader may already have heard more than he
desires of such a discussion, it will be unnecessary to say more than
that Mr. Tims adhered to his first resolution, and carried off the sum
he had in hand, leaving Mr. Wilkinson to send down to Lord
Ashborough his protested bill, and Beauchamp's note of hand, if he
pleased.

In the mean time, that noble lord proceeded, as fast as a light

chariot and good horses could carry him, down to Emberton. It was
dark, however, ere he arrived; and the first object that met his sight
the following morning, as he looked forth from the windows of the
inn, was the old mansion, at the end of its wide and solitary park,
with the stream flowing calmly on, through the midst of the brown
grass and antique trees, and the swans floating upon its bosom in
the early light. He had not seen it since he was a mere youth, and
the finger of time had written that sad word _decay_ on the whole
aspect of the place. To the earl, through whose whole frame the
same chilly hand had spread the growing stiffness of age, the sight
was awfully sad, of the place where he had spent the most elastic
days of life, and it was long ere he could withdraw his eyes, as he
paused and contemplated every feature of the scene, and woke a
thousand memories that had long slept in the night of the past.

There was a change over all he saw since last he had beheld it--a
gloom, a desolation, a darkness; and he felt, too, that there was a
change as great in himself. But there was something more in his
thoughts; the decay in his own frame was greater, more rapid, more
irremediable. The scene might flourish again under some cultivating
hand; the mansion, repaired with care, and ornamented with taste,
might assume a brighter aspect, but nothing could restore life's
freshness or the body's strength to him. Each day that passed must
see some farther progress in the downfall of his powers; and few,
few brief months and years would behold him in the earth, without
leaving a being behind him to carry on his lineage into time, if Henry
Beauchamp were, indeed, as his fears anticipated. It was the first
time that he had thought in such a sort for long; and most
unfortunate was it that there was no voice, either in his own heart,
or from without, to point the moral at the moment, and to lead the
vague ideas excited, of life, and death, and immortality, to their just
conclusion. He thought of death and of his own decay, indeed; but
he never thought of using better the life that still remained--for he
scarcely knew that he had used the past amiss; and after indulging
for some minutes those meditations that will at times have way, he
found that they only served to make him melancholy, and turned
again to the every-day round of life.

When he was dressed and had breakfasted, he set out for the
small village near which Henry Beauchamp's hat had been found. In
his way, he stopped also at the house where the hunter had been
left, identified the horse, and listened attentively to the replies which
the landlord and his servants made to the shrewd questions of an
officer he brought with him from London.

The man's tale was very simple, and quite the same that he had
given to Mr. Tims. He described Henry Beauchamp very exactly,
declared that he had appeared grave and melancholy when he came
there, and that he had never heard any thing of him since. The
servants told the same story; and Lord Ashborough only acquired an
additional degree of gloom, from ascertaining in person the accuracy
of the lawyer's report.
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