“Well, Katie,” he said, when he went back to the parlour; “I am pleased. To think of that rascal getting his deserts after all.” “So am I, Frank. It’s very unwomanly, I have no doubt, but I’m delighted.” About an hour later there was a noise on the gravel in front, and Frank went to the door. There was an inspector and three policemen; while behind them, on his horse, with his face bound up in a complete mat of bandages, sat Fred Bingham. “What do you want, inspector?” Frank, who knew the man, said. “We have come up, Mr. Maynard, in search of a lad who has committed an aggravated assault upon Mr. Bingham, and who is supposed to be here.” “I have heard another version of the story,” Frank said. “The boy was struck first, and he only gave the fellow who hit him what he richly deserved. But he is not here, inspector; I have not seen him since I left work.” “Do your duty, inspector, and search the house!” Fred Bingham exclaimed, speaking thickly, and with difficulty. “Hold your tongue, you Bingham,” Frank said; “and get off my property this instant. I warn you—you are trespassing. You can search the house, if you like, inspector; but I give you my word of honour that Holl is not here, that he has not been here, and that I am perfectly unaware where he is at the present time. If he were here I should advise him at once to give this ruffian who struck him in charge for the assault. There are witnesses who saw it.” “I believe you paid him to assault me, Maynard,” Fred Bingham said, furiously. “No you don’t, Bingham,” Frank said, calmly. “These sort of things I am in the habit of taking into my own hands; and I warn you, you are in my debt still, and that if ever I have a chance I will clear it off. No; this time you brought it upon yourself for daring to insult some one who was not bound hand and foot to you.” “I don’t know about the rights of the case, sir,” the inspector said; “however, of course I will take your word about his being here, Mr. Maynard. Come, boys, we must search somewhere else.”