efore frankly unprintable. But towards the top of Mulcaster Park
I did make out that a number of pointless speeches, delivered by Mr.
Nettleton at his lunch, had culminated in the announcement that he was
going to the theatre that night.

"The theatre!" I cried. "I thought he never even went up to town?"

I had gathered that from Delavoye, and Sarah confirmed it with much
embroidery. I was also told his reasons for making such a sudden
exception, and as given by Sarah they were certainly not convincing.

"Then he's in the theatre now, or ought to be?" I suggested; for it was
then just after nine o'clock.

"Ah, that's where it is, sir!" said Sarah, weightily. "He _ought_ to be,
as you say, sir. But he's locked his lib'ry, and there's a light under
the door, and I can't get no answer, not though I knock, knock, knock,
till I'm tired of knocking!"

I now ascertained that Sarah also had been given money to make a night
of it, in her case at the Parish Hall, where one of the church
entertainments was going on. Sarah made mention of every item on the
programme, as far as she had heard it out. But then it seemed she had
become anxious about her kitchen fire, which she had been ordered to
keep up for elaborate reasons connected with the master's bath. There
had been no fire in the lib'ry that day; it was late in February, but
exceptionally mild for the time of year. She knew her master sometimes
left his lib'ry locked, after that what happened the last
house-parlourmaid, and serve people right for going where they had no
business. She could not say that he had left it locked on this occasion;
she only knew it was so now, and a light under the door, though he had
gone away in broad daylight.

This room, in which Nettleton certainly kept his books, but also his
carpenter's bench, test-tubes and retorts, and a rack of stoppered
bottles, was the one at the back leading into the garden. It was meant
for the drawing-room in this particular type of house, was of
considerable size, but only divided from the kitchen by a jerry-built
wall. Sarah could not say that she had heard a sound in the
lib'ry--though she often did hear master, as she was setting there of a
evening--since he went away without his tea. Of course she had not
noticed the light under the door till after dark; not, in fact, till she
came back from her entertainment. No; she had not thought of going into
the room to draw the curtains. The less she went in there, wi