'Exactly so,' answered the other with a laugh--of scaffold mirth.

Conyngham turned in his chair and sat with his elbows on his knees,
his face resting on his closed fists, staring at the worn old
hearthrug. Thus they remained for some minutes.

'What are you thinking about?' asked Horner at length.

'Nothing--got nothing to think with. You know that, Geoffrey. Wish
I had--never wanted it as I do at this moment. I'm no good, you
know that. You must go to some one with brains--some clever devil.'

As he spoke he turned and took up the paper again, reading the
paragraph slowly and carefully. Horner looked at him with a
breathless hunger in his eyes. At some moments it is a crime to
think, for we never know but that thought may be transmitted without
so much as a whisper.

'"The miners were accompanied by a gentleman from London,"'
Conyngham read aloud, '"a barrister, it is supposed, whose speech
was a feature of the Chester le-Street meeting. This gentleman's
name is quite unknown, nor has his whereabouts yet been discovered.
His sudden disappearance lends likelihood to the report that this
unknown agitator actually struck the blow which injured Mr. Alfred
Pleydell. Every exertion is being put forth by the authorities to
trace the man who is possibly a felon and certainly a coward."'

Conyngham laid aside the paper and again looked at Horner, who did
not meet his glance nor ask now of what he was thinking. Horner,