of a strange, absorbed interest. I paused--involuntarily.

"Go on!" said he. "Did you mention the name Netherfield just then?"

"I did," said I. "Netherfield."

"Well, continue with your tale," he said. "I'm listening. I'm a
silent man when I'm busy with my meat and drink, but I've a fine pair
of ears."

He began to ply knife and fork again, and I went on with my story,
continuing it until the parting with Salter Quick. When I came to
that, the footman who stood behind Mr. Cazalette's chair was just
removing his last plate, and the old man leaned back a little and
favoured the three of us with a look.

"Aye, well," he said, "and that's an interesting story, Middlebrook,
and it tempts me to break my rule and talk a bit. It was some
churchyard this fellow was seeking?"

"A churchyard--in this neighbourhood," I replied. "Or--churchyards."

"Where there were graves with the name Netherfield on their stones or
slabs or monuments," he continued.

"Aye--just so. And those men he foregathered with at the inn, they'd
never heard of anything at that point, nor elsewhere?"

"Neither there nor elsewhere," I assented.

"Then if there is such a place," said he, "it'll be one of those
disused burial-grounds of which there are examples here in the north,
and not a few."

"You know of some?" suggested Mr. Raven.

"I've seen such places," answered Mr. Cazalette. "Betwixt here--the
sea-coast--and the Cheviots, westward, there's a good many spots that
Goldsmith might have drawn upon for his deserted village. The folks
go--the bit of a church falls into ruins--its graveyard gets choked
with weeds--the stones are covered with moss and lichen--the monuments
fall and are obscured by the grass--underneath the grass and the weed
many an old family name lies hidden. And what'll that man be wanting
to find any name at all for, I'd like to know!"

"The queer thing to me," observed Mr. Raven, "is that two men should
be wanting to find it at the same time."

"That looks as if there were some very good reason why it should be
found, doesn't it?" remarked his niece. "Anyway, it all sounds very
queer--you've brought mystery with you, Mr. Middlebrook! Can't you
suggest anything, Mr. Cazalette? I'm sure you're good at solving
problems."

But just then Mr. Cazalette's particular servant put a fresh dish in
front of him--a curry, the peculiar aroma of which evidently aroused
his epicurean instinct. Instead of responding to Miss Raven's