?" asks Jasper Lamotte, eagerly, in spite of himself.

"That," replies Mr. O'Meara, with elaborate _nonchalance_, "will be made
known at the trial. Mr. Lamotte, we trust that you will pardon this most
necessary intrusion, and we wish you a very good morning."

The examination has been a very brief affair; it is just ten o'clock
when the four unwelcome guests drive away.

Doctor Benoit does not accompany them; he goes up-stairs to visit his
patients.

Jasper Lamotte asks him no questions. He knows that Doctor Benoit is a
man of honor and that he will keep his professional secrets. So he goes
sulkily back to his library.

Two hours later a rough, uncouth looking man appears at the servants'
entrance, and asks to see Mr. Lamotte.

"I'm one of his workmen," he says, very gravely, "and I want to see him
particular."

Jasper Lamotte is in no mood for receiving visitors, but he is, just
now, in a position where he can not, with safety, follow the dictates of
his haughty nature.

He is filled with suspicion; surrounded by a mystery he can not fathom;
and, a man who begs for an audience at such an hour, must have an
extraordinary errand. Reasoning thus, he says, crustily:

"Show the fellow here."

A moment later the man shuffles into the room. Mr. Lamotte glances up,
and his brow darkens ominously.

"Brooks!" he exclaims. "What the mischief--" he checks himself, then
adds, ungraciously: "What do _you_ want?"

"Mr. Lamotte, I beg your pardon, sir," says the man, a trifle thickly.
"I came back to W---- last night, and heard of the awful things, as has
happened here. Now, I always liked Burrill, in spite of his weakness,
for _I_ ain't the man to criticise such failin's. I've been down among
the factory people, and I've heard them talk; and, thinks I to myself,
there's some things as Mr. Lamotte ought to know. You've always paid me
my wages, sir; and treated me fair; and I believe you've treated all the
hands the same; but--there's _some_ people as must always have their
fling at every body, as the Lord has seen fit to set over their heads;
and--there's some of them sort in Mill avenue."

During this harangue the countenance of Jasper Lamotte has grown less
supercilious, but not less curious.

"Explain yourself, Brooks," he says, quite graciously, and with some
inward uneasiness. "I do not comprehend your meaning."

"If I had come to your servants and asked to see the body of my old
chum," begins Brooks, with a kn