found, they had seen no one. Frantic with rage, yet with an ill-defined
sensation of fear, the nobleman, re-entered the mansion, and dismissing
every one, locked himself in an inner chamber.

The agent waited until his master was gone; then seated himself in the
chair of state, and mused. 'Let me see! £500, too much to slip from my
hands. I will find this Curly Tom myself--I think I know him--and if I
can but keep him sober--and promise him a good carouse when Hunter's
caught, he will entrap him--for these scoundrels all know how to find
one another--£500, too much for any of these bumpkins constables, no,
no, I must have it--there is danger though--I must think over it--that
voice was queer, where could it come from--could any one be in the
presses?' After screwing up his courage to the task, he opened them
fearfully one by one; there was nothing there but the old papers before
mentioned. He stooped and stood leaning against the mantelpiece, over
which was the Earl's picture--then puzzled, but determined on his course
of action, he left the room and took his way to the village. He was not
far from the house, when a servant called to him. 'You have a paper on
your back, Mr. Lambert,' said he. He took his coat off; on the back,
fastened with a pin, was a paper, with the single word, doomed, written
upon it. The man of business was puzzled; he was not altogether a
coward, but this was not a business proceeding; he said nothing,
however, but methodically folded it up, placed it in his pocket book,
and proceeded.




CHAPTER II.