and a robber of the fishponds--any one of 'em when he gets the chance;
leastways it's said so; and he looks just like a wild man o' the woods;
wilder than any Robison Crusoe! And he--but you might not like me to
mention that, sir."

"Mention anything," replied Mr. Elster. "Go on."

"Well, sir, it's said by some that his was the shot that killed Mr.
George," she returned, dropping her voice; and Percival Elster started.

"Who is he?" he exclaimed.

"He is not known to a soul. He came here a stranger."

"But--he was not here when I left home. And I left it, you may remember,
only a few days before that night."

"He must have come here at that very time, sir; just as you left."

"But what grounds were there for supposing that he--that he--I think you
must be mistaken, Mrs. Capper. Lord Hartledon, I am sure, knows nothing
of this suspicion."

"I never heard nothing about grounds, sir," simply replied the woman. "I
suppose folks fastened it on him because he's a loose character: and his
face is all covered with hair, like a howl."

He almost laughed again as he turned away, dismissing the suspicion she
had hinted at as unworthy a moment's credit. The broad gravel-walk
through this portion of the park was very short, and the large grey-stone