slender man; in figure very much resembling Percival, but not in face:
the one was dark, the other fair. There was also the same indolent sort
of movement, a certain languid air discernible in both; proclaiming the
undoubted fact, that both were idle in disposition and given to ennui.
There the resemblance ended. Lord Hartledon had nothing of the
irresolution of Percival Elster, but was sufficiently decisive in
character, prompt in action.

A noble room, this they were in, as many of the rooms were in the fine
old mansion. Lord Hartledon opened the inner door, and took them into
another, to show them the portrait of his brother George--a fine young
man also, with a fair, pleasing countenance.

"He is like Elster; not like you, Hartledon," cried a young man, whose
name was Carteret.

"_Was_, you mean, Carteret," corrected Lord Hartledon, in tones of sad
regret. "There was a great family resemblance between us all, I believe."

"He died from an accident, did he not?" said Mr. O'Moore, an Irishman,
who liked to be called "The O'Moore."

"Yes."

Percival Elster turned to his brother, and spoke in low tones. "Edward,
was any particular person suspected of having fired the shot?"

"None. A set of loose, lawless characters were out that night, and--"

"What are you all looking at here?"