The Consequences of Crime.—A Familiar Friend.—A Cloud upon Learmont’s Felicity. Being informed by his servants that his visitor had been shown into a small room adjoining the library, Learmont took a lamp from his table, and with a frowning brow and compressed lips, walked towards the room to demand of Britton, for he guessed too well it was he, the cause of so early a visit. When he entered the room he found the smith lolling, at his ease, upon a costly couch, and although he did rise at the presence of Learmont, it was with an air and manner of extreme insolence. “To what am I indebted for so early a visit, or rather I should say intrusion?” asked Learmont in a low hollow voice. “Principally,” said Britton with an air of perfect indifference, “to assure you that I had arrived in London, perfectly safe.” “Well?” said Learmont. “Aye and well too,” answered the smith, purposely mistaking the other’s meaning. “I wish to know, likewise, if you have seen Jacob Gray?” “I have not,” replied Learmont. “Know you, squire, where in London he is to be found?” “I do not. Has he not confided that to you?” “In faith, he has not. In vain I urged him to tell me his place of abode, and if I know not where to find him how can I carry out the project we have decided upon?” “True,” said Learmont. “There must be found some means. Listen to me: when next Jacob Gray seeks me for money, I will put him off to a particular hour the next day. Be you then, at that hour, lurk about here, and follow him to his home, whither he will most likely go directly, having a sum of money with him.” “That may do,” said Britton, after a moment’s consideration. “You can send to me at any time by my real name, addressed to a little hostelrie, called ‘The Old Chequers,’ by Storey’s Gate hard by. You see, squire, I thought it handy to live near at hand.” “Promise me—swear to me, you will take this man’s life!” cried Learmont with sudden vehemence. “I have no particular objection to take his life,” replied Britton. “And the boy?” “That’s as circumstances turn out, squire. If the boy knows nothing—suspects nothing—” “Aye there’s the doubt. Britton, dispose of Gray, and your reward, as you know, is most ample. Bring, then, that boy to me.” “Agreed. You shall have him.” “Thanks, good Britton; and—and when you bring him you shall not be five minutes without your just reward.” There was a peculiarity of tone and manner about Learmont as he uttered these words, which startled the smith, and he looked for a moment or two suspiciously at his employer, then he said,— “Squire Learmont, I have been taught an useful lesson by Jacob Gray. I, too, have written a confession, and lodged it in a place of safety.” “What mean you?” said Learmont. “This—that if I should die suddenly, a packet of papers will be found, which will do no good to the Squire of Learmont. You understand me.” “I do understand you,” said Learmont; “but your suspicions are groundless.”