The return journey passed without a word being exchanged; and not, indeed, until they got out of the cab at New Street, was the silence broken. Then Stephen Walker turned to the Policeman— “Thank you very much for what you have done for me. To-morrow I shall go down to the funeral of my child, for although as you advised, I declined to identify her, I have no doubt it is her. To-night I have other things to do.” The Policeman did not turn off at the door, as Stephen Walker evidently expected and wished him to do, but followed him into the house. “Excuse me, Mr. Walker, excuse what I am going to say, but from what I have seen of you on the way up, I am afraid you are going to do something rash. Now, don't you go to do it, sir. I ain't talking as a policeman now, I am talking as a man. Don't make matters worse by doing anything rash. I know what you are thinking of—you are thinking of him. He's a bad un, whoever he is; and hanging would be too good for him; but don't you touch him, sir. Think it over—don't do anything rash.” “You think I am going to kill him?” Stephen Walker asked. “I don't think, and I don't want to know,” the Policeman said. “I am your friend now, and am off duty; I may have my own opinion as to what would serve him right, but don't tell me. They know I've been down with you, and I don't want to have to answer awkward questions. I only say to you, as a friend now, think it over,—don't do anything rash. It can't set things right and it will only cause trouble. Don't you think of it, Mr. Walker.” “I am not thinking of it,” Stephen Walker said. “If I were younger I should. I am an old man now, and a feeble one, although I don't feel feeble at present. No, I do not think of killing him. If I knew I could I would; ay, as truly as I stand here; but I am nervous and feeble, and I might fail, and then he would escape to enjoy the triumph of another victim. No, I will strike him with a surer hand than that. Thank God, I know who he is, and I think and hope I can ruin him, upset all his hopes and plans, and embitter his life; and I will do it. You look surprised, Policeman, and well you may. He thought Carry had no friends—no protector; and well he might. I was a feeble, nervous old man. I could not save her, but I am not nervous now; I am a desperate old man, and I will avenge her. Good evening.” The Policeman shook Stephen Walker's hand, and went away. Even had he wished it, he could have urged nothing which would have availed with the old man; and, indeed, relieved from his fears of bloodshed, he was glad to hear that justice of some kind was to be done. That evening, after dinner, Captain Bradshaw was still sitting in the dining-room with Alice, when he heard a ring at the bell. After a short conversation in the hall, the servant entered the room. “If you please, sir, there is a man in the hall wants to speak to you particular.” “What sort of man, James?”