.

Finally he paused, looked about him, laughed a short half laugh, and
crossing the road, vaulted a high-wired fence, with the ease of a
harlequin, and took his way across a meadow toward the river.

"Tra-la, tra-la-la-la-la," chirped he, softly and contentedly. "_What_ a
pretty kettle of fish. How I should love to sit down right beside it and
see it boil, stir it occasionally; instead, I must go far away, and
meantime, who knows, the kettle may boil over. But I hope not,--I trust
not. I will try and prevent it; and, to do that, I must drop a little
shell before I go. I must bind Miss Wardour over to my aid. I must show
her that it is wise to trust me. I must have a confidante here, and
there are only two to choose from. Doctor Heath, 'from nowhere,' and
this clear-eyed lady. I choose her; for, with all due regard for my
friend, the doctor, and all due faith in the propriety of his motives, I
must know _why_ he throws that bit of circumstantial evidence in my way,
before I show him any part of my hand. Why Doctor Heath is here, is none
of my business, strange as his presence and present occupation seem to
me. Why he is mixing himself up in the affair of Miss Wardour's
diamonds, however, _is_ my business, just now. But, first of all, to
know how much or little Jerry Belknap knows of this affair, and of these
people, and whether he is at his old crookedness once more. Now, here is
the river; here the footpath. I must see the mistress of Wardour Place,
and at once; so, _en avant_."

And he struck into the river footpath, and strode rapidly along toward
Wardour Place, whistling softly as he went. Meantime, Constance Wardour,
pacing the walks of her garden, with her brows wrinkled into a frown,
was interrupted by her housemaid.

"If you please, miss, there's a man in the front hall, that's wanting
to see you, and says I am to tell you it's important that his business
is."

Constance made a slight gesture of impatience; she had been thinking of
Sybil Lamotte, to the exclusion of all other subjects, and this message
brought her suddenly back to her own affairs.

"Important!" she muttered to herself. "Then it must be--the other one.
Nelly," raising her voice, "what is this man like?"

"Like, miss?" inquiringly.

"Yes. How does he look?"

"Oh! Well, it's very ugly he looks, to my notion."

"Does he look like a gentleman, Nelly?"

"Oh, murther! no."

"Like a tramp, then?"

"No; his clothes is too new."

"Well,