“Now, sir, you will see him,” said the host. “Just let me move a shutter, and you will have a little more light. There, sir—there he lies. Ah, he was fond of his glass—that he was—a fine fellow.” A stream of light came from the partially unclosed shutter, and Gray saw the corpse of the man whom he had tempted to commit a murder upon Britton himself, lying cold and stark in the bloody embrace of death. The body lay upon a table, and the warmth of the house had caused the wound to bleed slightly again. The face was ghastly and pale, and the wide open staring eyes gave an awful appearance to the fixed rigid countenance. “See there, now,” cried the landlord. “You may note where he has been run through the breast; don’t you see the rent?” “I do,” said Gray. “There are two such wounds.” “Don’t it strike you,” remarked Gray, “that these are sword wounds?” “Of course it does.” “Then who but a gentleman accredited to wear a weapon could have killed the man?” “That’s true. I’ll solemn swear to that,” cried the landlord. “The tall, thin, dark man,” added Gray, “must be some gentleman, residing probably hereabout, or directly across the bridge.” “No doubt; I’ll swear.” “Most properly,” added Gray. “Good day to you, sir. I may perchance look in again.” “Come to the inquest, sir,” said the landlord. “There you shall have it all out, I’ll warrant. There you shall hear me solemnly swear everything.“ “Perchance, I may,” said Gray, as he descended the staircase. “Will it be to-day?” “To-morrow, at noon; as I understand, sir.” “Thank you. Thank you.” Gray left the house, and when he was some paces from the door, he muttered.— “So, Master Learmont, I have another hold upon your kind generosity. That by some strange chance, which I cannot conjecture, this waterman found out my place of abode, and thus communicated it to you, Squire Learmont. I am convinced. Humph! He has got his wages. I could accuse you of a crime, good, kind, considerate Learmont, that would not in the least compromise my own safety. We shall see—we shall see. I—I must now make my way homewards again. Surely by this time Ada has returned. She must be waiting. Home! Home! And then, to think of another place in which to hide my head from my worst foe, and yet my only source of wealth.” CHAPTER XXVII. Ada’s Flight and Despair.—Old Westminster Bridge at Daybreak.—The Smith.—Mad Maud.