"Oh, Sir William, they have killed your brother! Robbed him and killed
him!"

Frances was incoherently explaining to Sir William when Lady Wentworth
came down the steps and led her into the house. Then the doors were
opened wide, and poor old Roger's body was carried reverently to the best
parlor.

The following morning, when I was notified that Frances was at Sir
William's house, I went to see her and learned the particulars of the
tragedy, though she said nothing at that time about having recognized any
of the highwaymen, and seemed strangely reluctant to talk about the
affair.

On the fourth day after Roger's death he was buried in
Saint-Martin's-in-the-Fields churchyard, good Sir William taking the only
means in his power to express his love for his brother by an elaborate
funeral. Never were there more beautiful hatchments seen in London. They
bore Roger's humble coat-of-arms, half in white and half in black, to
denote that the deceased had left a widow. Never were there more nor
finer white mourning scarfs distributed among the mourners, and never in
the memory of man had so much burnt sherry been served at a funeral.

These extraordinary arrangements attracted a great deal of attention
throughout London and caused Roger's murder to be talked about far and
near. The result of this publicity was that the city authorities set on
foot an investigation which soon brought Wentworth, Crofts, and Berkeley
under suspicion. The sheriffs, however, kept their suspicions to
themselves, and I heard only faint whispers of what was going on.