ould I know who?" rejoined the Cellarman, apparently much
exasperated by the unreasonable nature of the question. "Them! Them as
says pretty well everything, you know. How should I know who They are,
if you don't?"

"True. Go on."

"They do say that the man that gets by any accident a piece of that dark
growth right upon his breast, will, for sure and certain, die by murder."

As Vendale laughingly stopped to meet the Cellarman's eyes, which he had
fastened on his light while dreamily saying those words, he suddenly
became conscious of being struck upon his own breast by a heavy hand.
Instantly following with his eyes the action of the hand that struck
him--which was his companion's--he saw that it had beaten off his breast
a web or clot of the fungus even then floating to the ground.

For a moment he turned upon the Cellarman almost as scared a look as the
Cellarman turned upon him. But in another moment they had reached the
daylight at the foot of the cellar-steps, and before he cheerfully sprang
up them, he blew out his candle and the superstition together.

EXIT WILDING

On the morning of the next day, Wilding went out alone, after leaving a
message with his clerk. "If Mr. Vendale should ask for me," he said, "or
if Mr. Bintrey should call, tell them I am gone to the Foundling." All
that his partner had said to him, all that his lawyer, following on the
same side, could urge, had left him persisting unshaken in his own point
of view. To find the lost man, whose place he had usurped, was now the
paramount interest of his life, and to inquire at the Foundling was
plainly to take the first step in the direction of discovery. To the
Foundling, accordingly, the wine-merchant now went.

The once familiar aspect of the building was altered to him, as the look
of the portrait over the chimney-piece was altered to him. His one
dearest association with the place which had sheltered his childhood had
been broken away from it for ever. A strange reluctance possessed him,
when he stated his business at the door. His heart ached as he sat alone
in the waiting-room while the Treasurer of the institution was being sent
for to see him. When the interview began, it was only by a painful
effort that he could compose himself sufficiently to mention the nature
of his errand.

The Treasurer listened with a face which promised all needful attention,
and promised nothing more.

"We are obliged to be cautious,"