"But, Hetty," said Layard, "if the man lives so very much to himself and does not leave his house, how is all this known?" "Why, because all the women have not been abolished yet. Do you fancy there ever was a mystery a woman could not find out? It is the business of women to fathom mysteries. I'll engage that before we are a week here I shall know twice as much as I do now of our romantic neighbour." "And then," said Crawford, showing signs of flagging interest, and directing his attention once more to the arrangement of the room, "perhaps Miss Layard will follow this Crusoe's example, and write a book against men." "No, no. I like men." He turned round and looked fully at her. "And upon my word, Miss Layard," said he warmly, "I think you would find a vast majority of men very willing to reciprocate the feeling." Hetty laughed, and so did her brother. "As I explained," said Crawford, "I shall want these rooms only once a month. I shall have to look after the property in this neighbourhood. I think I shall take a leaf out of our friend Crusoe's book, and keep very quiet and retired. I care to be known in this neighbourhood as little as possible. There is property of another kind in town. It, too, requires my personal supervision. I shall make this place my head-quarters, and keep what changes of clothes I require here. It is extremely unlikely I shall have any visitors. By the way, in what direction does Camberwell lie?" He asked the question with an elaborate carelessness which did not escape Alfred Layard. "Up there," said Layard, waving his left hand in a southerly direction. Once more Crawford approached the window. This time he leaned out, resting his hand on the sill. In front of him lay Boland's Ait, a little island about a hundred yards long and forty yards wide in the middle, tapering off to a point at either end. Beyond the head of the island, pointing south, the tow-path was visible, and beyond the tail of the island the tow-path again, and further off Welford Bridge, lying north. Hetty was leaning against the wainscot of the old-fashioned deep embrasure. "Does that tow-path lead to Camberwell?" asked Crawford. "Yes," answered the girl, making a gesture to the left. "Is it much frequented?" asked he in a voice he tried to make commonplace, but from which he could not banish the hint of anxiety. "O, no, very few people go along it." "But now, I suppose, people sometimes come from that direction," waving his left hand, "for a walk?" "Well," said the girl demurely, "the scenery isn't very attractive; but there is nothing to prevent people coming, if they pay the toll." "O, there _is_ a toll?" he said in a tone of relief, as if the knowledge of such a barrier between him and Camberwell were a source of satisfaction to him. "Yes; a halfpenny on weekdays and a penny on Sundays."