"But who hesitates to bring it home to Halliburton?" inquired Mrs. Dare.

"They all do--as it seems to me. Ashley won't hear a word: laughs at the idea of Halliburton's being capable of it, and says we may as well accuse himself. That's nothing: as Cyril says, Mr. Ashley appears to be imbued with the idea that Halliburton can do no wrong: but now Delves has veered round. He shifts the blame entirely off Halliburton."

"Upon whom does he shift it?" asked Anthony Dare.

"He won't say," replied Mr. Dare. "He has grown mysterious over it since the afternoon; nodding and winking, and giving no explanation. He says he knows who it is who possesses the second cloak."

"The second cloak!" The words were a puzzle to most at table, and Mr.

Dare had to explain that another cloak, similar to that worn by William Halliburton, was supposed to be in existence.

Cyril looked up, with wonder marked on his face. "Does Delves say there are two such cloaks?" asked he.

"That there are two such cloaks appears to be an indisputable fact,"

replied Mr. Dare. "The one cloak was parading behind the Halliburtons'

house last night. Samuel Lynn went up to it----"

"The cloak parading tout seul--alone?" interrupted Signora Varsini, with a perplexed air.

A laugh went round the table. "Accompanied by the wearer, mademoiselle,"

said Mr. Dare, continuing the account of Samuel Lynn's adventure. "Thus the fact of there being two cloaks is established," he proceeded.

"Still, that tells nothing; unless the owner of the other has access to Mr. Ashley's counting-house. I pointed this fact out to them. But Delves--which is most unaccountable--differed from me; and when we parted he expressed an opinion, with that confident nod of his, that it was not Halliburton's cloak which had been in the mischief at the butcher's, but the other."

"What a thundering falsehood!" burst forth Herbert Dare.

"_Sir!_" cried Mr. Dare, while all around the table stared at Herbert's excited manner.

Herbert had the grace to feel ashamed of his abrupt and intemperate rudeness. "I beg your pardon, sir; I spoke in my surprise. I mean that Delves must be telling a falsehood, if he seeks to throw the guilt off Halliburton. The very fact of the fellow's wearing a strange cloak such as that, when he went to get rid of the cheque, must be proof positive of Halliburton's guilt."

"So I think," acquiesced Mr. Dare.

"What sort of a cloak is this that you laugh at, and call scarce?"

inquired the governess.

"The greatest scarecrow of a thing you can conceive, mademoiselle,"

responded Mr. Dare. "I had the pleasure of seeing it to-day on Halliburton. It is a dark green-and-blue Scotch plaid, made very full, with a turned up collar lined with red, and a bit of fur edging it."

"Plaid? Plaid?" repeated mademoiselle. "Why it must be----"

"What?" asked Mr. Dare, for she had stopped.

"It must be very ugly," concluded she. But somehow Mr. Dare gathered an impression that it was not what she had been about to say.

"What is it that Delves says about the cloaks?" eagerly questioned Cyril. "I cannot make it out."

"Delves says he knows who it is that owns the other; and that it was the other which went to change the cheque at White's."

"What mysterious words, papa!" cried Adelaide. "The cloak went to change the cheque!"

"They were Delves' own words," replied Mr. Dare. "He did seem remarkably mysterious over it."

"Is he going to hunt up the other cloak?" resumed Cyril.

"I conclude so. He was pondering over it for some time before he could remember who it was that he had seen wear a similar cloak. When the recollection came to him, he started up with surprise. Sharp men, these police-officers!" added Mr. Dare. "They forget nothing."

"And they ferret out everything," said Herbert with some testiness.

"Instead of wasting time over vain speculations touching cloaks, why does not he secure Halliburton? It is impossible that the other cloak--if there is another--could have had anything to do with the affair."

"I dropped a note to Delves after he left me, recommending him to follow up the suspicion on Halliburton, whether Mr. Ashley is agreeable or not," said Mr. Dare. "I have rarely in my life met with a stronger case of presumptive evidence."

So, many, besides Mr. Dare, would have felt inclined to say. Herbert, like his father, was firm in the belief that William Halliburton must have taken the money; that it must have been he who paid the visit to the butcher. What Cyril thought may be best inferred from his actions. A sudden fear had come over him that Sergeant Delves was really going to search out the other cloak. A most inconvenient procedure for Cyril, lest, in the process, the sergeant should search out _him_. He laid down his knife and fork. He had had quite enough dinner for one day.

"Are you not hungry, Cyril?" asked his mother.

"I had a tremendous lunch," answered Cyril. "I can't eat more now."

He sat at the table until they had finished, feeling that he was being choked with dread. But that a guilty conscience deprives us of free action, he would have left the table and gone about some work he was now eager to do.

He rose when the rest did, looked about for a pair of large scissors, and glided with them up the staircase, his eyes and ears on the alert, lest there should be any watching him. No human being in that house had the slightest knowledge of what Cyril was about to do, or that he was going to do anything; but to Cyril's guilty conscience it seemed that all must be on the look-out.

A candle and scissors in hand he stole up to Herbert's room and locked himself in. Inside a closet within the room hung a dark blue camlet cloak, and Cyril took it from the hook. It had a plaid lining: a lining of the precise pattern and colours that the material of William Halliburton's cloak was composed of. The cloak was of the same full, old-fashioned make; its collar was lined with red, tipped with fur: in short, the one cloak worn on the right side and the other worn on the wrong side, could not have been told apart. This cloak belonged to Herbert Dare; occasionally, though not often, he went out at dusk, wearing it wrong side outermost. It was he, no doubt, whom Sergeant Delves had seen wearing one. He was a little taller than William Halliburton, towering above six feet. What his motive had been in causing a cloak to be lined so that, turned, it should resemble William Halliburton's, or whether the similarity in the lining had been accidental, was only known to Herbert himself.

With trembling fingers, and sharp scissors that were not particular where they cut, Cyril began his task of taking out this plaid lining.

That he had worn it to the butcher's, and that he feared it might tell tales of him, were facts only too apparent. Better put it out of the way for ever! Unpicking, cutting, snipping, Cyril tore away at the lining, and at length got it out, the cloak suffering considerable damage in the shape of cuts and rents, and loose threads. Hanging the cloak up again, he twisted the lining together.

He was thus engaged when the handle of the door was briskly turned, as if some one essayed to enter who had not expected to find it fastened.

Cyril dashed the lining under the bed, and made a spring to the window.

To leap out? surely not: for the fall would have killed him. But he had nearly lost all presence of mind in his perplexity and fear.

Another turn at the handle, and the steps went on their way. Cyril thought he recognized them for the housemaid's, Betsy. He supposed she was going her evening round of the chambers. Gathering the lining under his arm, he halted to think. His hands shook, and his face was white.

What should he do with this tell-tale thing? He could not eat it; he dared not burn it. There was no room, of those which had fires, where he might make sure of being alone: and the smell would alarm the house.

What _was_ he to do with it?

Dig a hole and bury it, came a prompting voice within him; and Cyril waited for no better suggestion, but crept with it down the stairs, and out to the garden.

Seizing a spade, he dug a hole rapidly in an unfrequented place; and when it was large enough thrust the stuff in. Then he covered it over again, to leave the spot apparently as he found it.

"I wish those stars would give a stronger light," grumbled Cyril, looking up at the dark blue canopy. "I must come again in the morning, I suppose, and see that it's all safe. It wouldn't do to bring a lantern."

Now it happened that Mr. Herbert Dare was bound on a private errand that evening. His intention was to go abroad in his cloak while he executed it. Just about the time that Cyril was putting the finishing touch to the hole, Herbert went up to his room to get the cloak.

To get the cloak, indeed! When Herbert opened the closet-door, nothing except the mutilated object just described met his eye. A torn, cut thing, the threads hanging from it loosely. Nothing could exceed Herbert's consternation as he stared at it. He thought he must be in a dream. _Was_ it his cloak? Just before dinner, when he came up to wash his hands, he had seen his cloak hanging there, perfect. He shook it, he pulled it, he peered at it. His cloak it certainly was; but who had destroyed it? A suspicion flashed into his mind that it might be the governess. He made but a few steps to the school-room, carrying the cloak with him.

The governess was sitting there, listlessly enough. Perhaps she was waiting for him. "I say, mademoiselle," he began, "what on earth have you been doing to my cloak?"

"To your cloak!" responded she. "What should I have been doing to it?"

"Look here," he said, spreading it out before her. "Who or what has done this? It was all right when I went down to dinner."