ear to me."

"About Mehetabel?" asked Mr. Sewell, uneasily.

"Yes."

"Well, I wish he would n't!"

"He was friendly enough in the course of conversation to hint to me that
he had not married the young woman, and seemed to regret it."

"No, he did n't marry Mehetabel."

"May I inquire _why_ he did n't marry Mehetabel?"

"Never asked her. Might have married the girl forty times. Old Elkins's
daughter, over at K------. She 'd have had him quick enough. Seven
years, off and on, he kept company with Mehetabel, and then she died."

"And he never asked her?"

"He shilly-shallied. Perhaps he did n't think of it. When she was dead
and gone, then Silas was struck all of a heap--and that's all about it."

Obviously Mr. Sewell did not intend to tell me anything more, and
obviously there was more to tell. The topic was plainly disagreeable to
him for some reason or other, and that unknown reason of course piqued
my curiosity.

As I was absent from dinner and supper that day, I did not meet Mr.
Jaffrey again until the following morning at breakfast. He had recovered
his bird-like manner, and was full of a mysterious assassination that
had just taken place in New York, all the thrilling details of which
were at his fingers' ends. It was at once comical and sad to see this
harmless old gentleman with his naive, benevolent countenance, and his
thin hair flaming up in a semicircle, like the footlights at a theatre,
revelling in the intricacies of the unmentionable deed.

"You come up to my room to-night," he cried, with horrid glee, "and I
'll give you my theory of the murder. I 'll make it as clear as day to
you that it was the detective himself who fired the three pistol-shots."

It was not so much the desire to have this point elucidated as to make
a closer study of Mr. Jaffrey that led me to accept his invitation.
Mr. Jaffrey's bedroom was in an L of the building, and was in no way
noticeable except for the numerous files of newspapers neatly arranged
against the blank spaces of the walls, and a huge pile of old magazines
which stood in one corner, reaching nearly up to the ceiling, and
threatening to topple over each instant, like the Leaning Tower at Pisa.
There were green paper shades at the windows, some faded chintz valances
about the bed, and two or three easy-chairs covered with chintz. On
a black-walnut shelf between the windows lay a choice collection of
meerschaum and brier-wood pipes.

Filling one of the c