Sam looked sharply at Rutley, not having noticed him in the room before.

Rutley met his stare with a most affable bow and remarked, "I am pleased to see that Mr. Samuel Harris is able to be about."

There was a bit of keen cynicism, a sort of faltering regret in Rutley's delivery, which did not escape detection by Sam.

It almost confirmed him in his suspicion that My Lord had run him down in a deliberate attempt to kill or disable him. The impression caused him momentarily to withhold speech, even in his aunt's presence. The incident was noticed by Mrs. Harris, who at once concluded something was amiss with Sam, and visions of dementia occasioned by the wound flitted across her brain.

"Dear me! What is coming over him?" she remarked in an awed voice. "He never acted so queer before. Sam!" and she shook him and looked in his face as though she feared some distressing discovery.

Rutley was perceptibly uneasy under Sam's steady stare and suddenly a.s.sumed a pose of freezing haughtiness, deliberately and with studied ceremony adjusted the monocle to his eye and fixed a stony stare at Sam.

Then he turned to Hazel, the very apotheosis of stilted grace and, offering her his arm, said in his most suave and gracious manner:

"I shall be deeply sensible of the honor of your company for a stroll on the lawn."

For a moment the girl hesitated, as though undecided between courtesy due her hostess and friendliness to My Lord.

Observing the embarra.s.sed expression of Mrs. Harris caused by Sam's rudeness, she chose to accept Rutley's arm, remarking, "It is so very beautiful this morning that I love to be out in the soft sunshine."

Then through the room they pa.s.sed--pa.s.sed Mrs. Harris, to whom Rutley bent his head, pa.s.sed Sam, who might as well have been in the Antipodes, for all Rutley seemed to see of him, though he looked directly at him, through him, and beyond him, out into the sunshine, with a triumphant smile playing about the corners of his mouth.

"Oh, Sam! you have humiliated me beyond anything I could ever dream of," said Mrs. Harris, whose pain and bewilderment was plainly evident.

"Aunty!" and Sam stooped and gently kissed her forehead.

"I'm sorry my rudeness got the best of me. I did not mean to offend or pain you; but I shall never apologize to that fellow. Never! Never!"

His earnestness was so intense, so unlike his usual self, that his aunt abruptly arose from the chair and in a startled voice said, "Dear me! Why, what do you know, Sam?"

"Why!"--and Sam's face broke into a broad smile, his usual buoyant spirit a.s.serting itself--"why, bless your dear soul, aunty, he's a villain!"

"Lord Beauchamp a villain!" she exclaimed, horrified, and she straightened up in offended dignity.

"Sam, permit me to declare you shock me with your irreverence."

"Well, he gave me the jolt"----

"Not another word!" and she held up her warning finger. "I perceive it my duty, a duty unhappily too long deferred, to instruct you in the art of proper form, especially when in the presence of the n.o.bility,"

and so saying, she swept down the room with all the stately majesty of a grand dame.

At the mantle she turned and continued, "The case being important, I shall read you a lesson on deportment by--by, dear me! I have forgotten the author's name. But that is immaterial. I shall get the book from the library. Don't leave the room," and so saying she entered the library, to his great relief.

Sam was in a very serious frame of mind. The night's work had developed tragic possibilities, and anything of a lugubrious nature interposing in his trend of thought was dismissed at once.

It was, therefore, no easy task for him to a.s.sume readily an air of nonchalance, even in the presence of his aunt, who had schooled him in the art. So the moment he was alone his thoughts plunged again into the absorbing events of the night, and presently he found himself considering the policy of making his aunt a confidant.

"Had I better tell her my suspicions?" he thought; "she will ask awkward questions. No, it will not do! Not yet!"

He was aroused from his reverie by a low, deep whispered "Sst!"

Looking up, he saw Smith peeping from behind the half open vestibule door.

Smith dared not enter the room for fear of disturbing Mrs. Harris and exciting her curiosity. He saw her enter the library and then he signaled to Sam. Having caught his attention, he held up a warning finger and again repeated "Sst!" adding in a whisper, "Ave some impartant news to tell yees."

It was well that Smith enjoined caution, for his eyes were expanded and aglow with excitement, and the muscles of his face, tense with serious import, twitched nervously.

Sam's exclamation of concern died on his lips, and he at once stepped into the vestibule, alert with expectation. Softly closing the door, he said, "What is it, Smith? Speak low and be quick. Aunty is in there"--and he indicated with his thumb the library.

"Sure, she's in good company, G.o.d presarve them. Will yees listen, plaise?"

"Yes, hurry!"

"Whill. I flim-flammed around the scow dwellin's an' shanties on the neck ave lant betwix Giles Lak an' the river--just beyant the Narth Pacific Mills, but divil a wan be the name ave Garge Golda cud I foind at all. Sure, I was nearly dishartened entirely, so I wus, whin who shud b.u.mp forninst me but me frint Kelly."

"Well?" grunted Sam.

"Kelly is a longsh.o.r.eman, and he understands his business, too, so he do; but he says he's too big and fat to wurruk much, an' I belaive him, too, so I do."

"Well, go on!" again grunted Sam, impatiently.

"Sure, I showed him the Garibaldi you gave me this marnin. 'Where did yees foind that?' says he, careless like.

"'I didn't foind it at all,' says I; 'my frint found it.'

"'Where at?' says he.

"'In the City Park,' says I. 'Some fellow lost it last night.'

"'Sure?' says he, an' he looked at me hard.

"'Sure!' says I. 'Phwat wud I be lyin' to yees fer?'

"'An' phwat was the owner doin' out in the City Park last night?' says he.

"'Divil a bit do I know,' says I.

"'D'yees know him?' says he.

"'Faith, an' I do not; d'yees?' says I.

"'Indade I do,' says he.

"'Yees do?' says I.

"'I do,' says he, 'fer a black-browed, black-moustached, divil-skinned dago.'

"'Where may be his risidence?' says I, not wan bit anxious, but with me best efforts to kape me heart from jumpin' up in me mout'.

"'He lives in a scow cabin up beyant there, at Ross Island,' says he.