over."

"Who was to think there was anything on the other side? Folk don't turn
their letters over from curiosity when they are concluded on the first
page."

"I never had a letter in my life but I turned it over to make sure,"
observed the more careful barrister. "I have had my walk for nothing."

"And I have been cooling my heels here! And you took the newspaper with
you!"

"No, I did not. Churton sent in from his rooms to borrow it."

"Well, let the misunderstanding go, and forgive me for being cross. Do
you know, Carr, I think I am growing ill-tempered from trouble. What
news have you for me?"

"I'll tell you by-and-by. Do you know who that is in the other room?"

"Not I. He seemed to stare me inside-out in a quiet way as I let him in."

"Ay. It's Green, the detective. At times a question occurs to me whether
that's his real name, or one assumed in his profession. He has come to
report at last. Had you better remain?"

"Why not?"

Mr. Carr looked dubious.

"You can make some excuse for my presence."

"It's not that. I'm thinking if you let slip a word--"

"Is it likely?"

"Inadvertently, I mean."

"There's no fear. You have not mentioned my name to him?"

"I retort in your own words--Is it likely? He does not know why he is
being employed or what I want with the man I wish traced. At present he
is working, as far as that goes, in the dark. I might have put him on a
false scent, just as cleverly and unsuspiciously as I dare say he could
put me; but I've not done it. What's the matter with you to-day,
Hartledon? You look ill."

"I only look what I am, then," was the answer. "But I'm no worse
than usual. I'd rather be transported--I'd rather be hanged, for that
matter--than lead the life of misery I am leading. At times I feel
inclined to give in, but then comes the thought of Maude."

CHAPTER XXIV.

SOMEBODY ELSE AT WORK.

They were shut in together: the detective officer, Mr. Carr, and Lord
Hartledon. "You may speak freely before this gentleman," observed Mr.
Carr, as if in apology for a third being present. "He knows the parties,
and is almost as much interested in the affair as I am."

The detective glanced at Lord Hartledon with his deep eyes, but he did
not know him, and took out a note-book, on which some words and figures
were dotted down, hieroglyphics to any one's eyes but his own. Squaring
his elbows on the table, he begun abruptly; and appeared to have a habit
of cuttin