somewhere at the bottom of this. The fellow's nag was ready
saddled--I got near enough to see that: and the yard-gate posted
open: and--the devil take it, Lydia, I believe you opened that window
on purpose! Did you?"

"That's telling, my dear. But, if you like, we'll suppose that I
did."

"Then," said Mr. Rogers bitterly, "it may interest you to know that
you've given him bail from the gallows. He's no priest at all: by
his own confession he's a forger: and I'll lay odds he's a murderer
too, if that's enough. But perhaps you knew this without my telling
you?"

Miss Belcher took a step or two towards the fireplace and back.
Her face, hidden for a moment, was composed when she turned it again
upon us.

"Don't be an ass, Jack. I knew nothing of the sort."

"You knew enough, it seems," Mr. Rogers persisted sulkily, "to guess
he was in a hurry. And you'll excuse me, Lydia, but this is a
serious business. Whether you knew it or not, you've abetted a
criminal in escaping from the law, and I've my duty to do.
What brought you here to-night?"

"Are you asking that as a Justice of the Peace?"

"I am," he answered, flushing angrily.

"Then I shall not answer you. Who is this boy?"

"His name is Harry Revel?"

"What? The youngster the hue-and-cry's after?"

"Quite so: and in a pretty bad mess, since you've opened the cage to
the real bird."

"Jack Rogers, you don't mean to tell me that he--that Mr. Whitmore--"

"Killed the Jew Rodriguez? Well, Lydia, I've no doubt of it in my
own mind: but when you entered we were investigating another crime of
his, and a dirtier one."

She swept us all in a gaze, and I suppose that our faces answered
her.

"Very well," she said; "I will answer your questions. You may put
them to me as a magistrate later on, but just now you shall listen to
them as a friend and a gentleman." With her hunting-crop she pointed
towards the door. "In the next room and alone, if you please.
Thank you. You will excuse us, Rector?"

She bowed to the old man. Mr. Rogers stood aside to let her pass,
then followed. The door closed behind them.

Mr. Doidge fumbled in his pockets, found his spectacles, adjusted
them with a shaking hand, and sat down before the bureau to search
for the licence. The pigeon-holes contained but a few bundles of
papers, all tied very neatly with red tape and docketed. (Neatness,
at any rate, was one of Mr. Whitmore's virtues. Although the carpet
lay litt