e had been, in all
respects, true to friendship. Sir Marmaduke had unfortunately given
his daughter to a jealous, disagreeable fellow, and the fault all
lay in that. As for Hugh Stanbury,--he would simply despise Hugh
Stanbury, and have done with it.

Mr. Bozzle, though he had worked hard in the cause, had heard but a
word or two. Eaves-droppers seldom do hear more than that. A porter
had already told him who was Hugh Stanbury,--that he was Mr. Hugh
Stanbury, and that his aunt lived at Exeter. And Bozzle, knowing that
the lady about whom he was concerned was living with a Mrs. Stanbury
at the house he had been watching, put two and two together with
his natural cleverness. "God bless my soul! what business is it of
yours?" Those words were nearly all that Bozzle had been able to
hear; but even those sufficiently indicated a quarrel. "The lady" was
living with Mrs. Stanbury, having been so placed by her husband; and
young Stanbury was taking the lady's part! Bozzle began to fear that
the husband had not confided in him with that perfect faith which he
felt to be essentially necessary to the adequate performance of the
duties of his great profession. A sudden thought, however, struck
him. Something might be done on the journey up to London. He at
once made his way back to the ticket-window and exchanged his
ticket,--second-class for first-class. It was a noble deed, the
expense falling all upon his own pocket; for, in the natural course
of things, he would have charged his employers with the full
first-class fare. He had seen Colonel Osborne seat himself in a
carriage, and within two minutes he was occupying the opposite place.
The Colonel was aware that he had noticed the man's face lately, but
did not know where.

"Very fine summer weather, sir," said Bozzle.

"Very fine," said the Colonel, burying himself behind a newspaper.

"They is getting up their wheat nicely in these parts, sir."

The answer to this was no more than a grunt. But Bozzle was not
offended. Not to be offended is the special duty of all policemen, in
and out of office; and the journey from Exeter to London was long,
and was all before him.

"A very nice little secluded village is Nuncombe Putney," said
Bozzle, as the train was leaving the Salisbury Station.

At Salisbury two ladies had left the carriage, no one else had got
in, and Bozzle was alone with the Colonel.

"I dare say," said the Colonel, who by this time had relinquished his
shie