"Who--who was she?"

"A wictim o' wiciousness, sir."

"What in the world do you mean? Who was she?"

"Well, d'ye 'appen to know a young woman name of Nancy Price, sir?"

"No!"

"And yet you've 'ad same in your arms, Mr. Werricker, sir."

"What the devil are you suggesting?" I demanded angrily.

"I suggest as you found same young woman in a vood at midnight and carried 'er to a inn called the 'Soaring Lark.'"

"Good heavens!" I exclaimed. "That unfortunate creature?"

"That werry same i-dentical, sir--a wictim o' wiciousness as your late lamented uncle, Sir Jervas, G.o.d bless 'im--amen!--saved from des'prit courses--"

"My uncle Jervas--" I exclaimed.

"Saved from des'prit courses!" repeated Mr. Shrig. "Himself, sir. Lord love him, 'e was always a-doin' of it; many a pore soul, male and female, 'e's saved from the river--ah, and worse as well, I know--ekally ready wi' fist or purse, ah, by Goles, an' vat vas better, with 'ope for the 'elpless an' 'elp for them as it seemed nothin' nor n.o.body could reach 'cept the law--a friend to them as thought they 'ad no friend but death. A fine gentleman, sir--yes, a tippy, a go, a bang-up blood, a reg'lar 'eavy-toddler, but most of all--a man! And I says again, G.o.d bless 'im an' 'is memory--amen!"

"Amen!" I repeated, while Mr. Shrig, tugging at something in the depths of a capacious side pocket, eventually drew thence a large, vivid-hued handkerchief and blew his nose resoundingly; which done, he blinked at me, surely the mildest-seeming man in all the world, despite the bra.s.s-mounted pistol which, disturbed in its lurking place by the sudden extrication of the handkerchief, peeped at me grimly from his pocket.

"Mr. Shrig, I should like to shake your hand," said I.

"'Eartily an' vith a vill, sir!" he answered.

"You see, I loved and honoured him also, Mr. Shrig."

"Verefore an' therefore, sir, I make bold to ask if you're partic'ler busy to-day?"

"I am here to meet a friend and then I am for the country."

"Tonbridge vay, sir?"

"Yes, why do you ask?"

"Because I've a call thereabouts myself to-day, an' if you vas minded to go along, I'd be honoured, sir, honoured."

"Thank you, Mr. Shrig, but--" I paused, for among the pile of unopened letters I espied one addressed in a familiar hand and, breaking the seal, read:

MY DEAR PERRY: Strong drink is raging, so am I, and London is the devil! Temptation dogs me, but a promise is a promise, so I have scuttled off ignominiously. You will find me at the Chequers Inn, Tonbridge, if I am not there to meet you, wait for me.

By the way, ale is exempt from your proscription, of course.

Yours to command now as ever,

ANTHONY VERE-MANVILLE.

"Mr. Shrig," said I, pocketing this letter, "when, pray, do you propose to start Tonbridge way?"

"This werry moment, sir."

"Why, then I shall be happy to accompany you."

"Are ye ready, sir?"

"Quite; let us go!"

So side by side we stepped out into the street; here Mr. Shrig, setting two fingers to his mouth, emitted a shrill whistle and round the corner came a tilbury behind a likely-looking horse driven by a red-faced man, who, at a sign from Mr. Shrig, descended from the lofty seat, into which we climbed forthwith.

"T'morrer mornin', Joel!" said Mr. Shrig, taking up the reins; and flicking the horse, away we went at a sharp trot.

"Do you propose to stay the night at Tonbridge, Mr. Shrig?"

"Vy--it's all accordin' to Number Vun, sir. Number Vun set out for Tonbridge but might be goin' further; v'ether 'e does or no, depends on Number Two."

"I fear I do not understand you, Mr. Shrig."

"Vich is 'ardly to be expected, sir. Y' see, perfeshionally speakin', I'm arter two birds as I 'opes to ketch alive an' dead."

"But how can you catch anything alive and dead?"

"Veil, then, let's say vun alive an' t' other 'un dead."

"Ah--what kind of birds?"

"Downy vuns, sir--'specially Number Vun!" and here my companion smiled and nodded benignantly.

Mr. Shrig drove rapidly, threading his way through the traffic with the ease of an experienced Jehu, and soon in place of dingy roofs and chimneys my eyes were blessed with the green of trees shading the familiar road which led, as I knew, to those leafy solitudes where one "might walk with G.o.d." And now there rushed upon me a memory of Diana--Diana as she once had been--my G.o.ddess of the Silent Places; and I yearned pa.s.sionately for the irrevocable past and despaired in bitter hopelessness of the present and the long and lonely future.

From these gloomy thoughts I was aroused by the sound of my companion's voice:

"I am a-goin' on this here hexpe-dition, sir, with the expectation--I may say with the 'ope sir, of finding a body--"

"A body of what?" I enquired absently.

"Lord, Mr. Werricker, sir, vat should it be but a hum-ing body--a corpse, sir."

"Horrible!" I exclaimed. "Who is it? Where did he die?"

"Vell, sir," said Mr. Shrig, consulting a ponderous watch, "to the best o' my judgment 'e ain't dead yet, no, not yet, I fancy, but two hours--say three--should do 'is business neat an' comfortable; yes--in three hours 'e should be as nice a corpse as ever you might vish to see--if the con-clusions as I've drawed is correct. An' talkin' o'

murder, sir--"

"Ah!" I exclaimed. "Is it murder?"