Miss Coyle knew very little and talked a great deal. Mr. Chumney knew a great deal and held his peace, waiting, with masterly patience, until the time should come for him to speak. For the last three months he had taken upon himself the office of a private inquirer, without fee or reward. He had made it his business to find out all that was to be known about Captain Standish. He had gone into all manner of company in order to make these discoveries, but his informants had been chiefly of the back-stairs--grooms, valets, tailors, boot-makers, horse dealers, people of all grades, who had been honoured with the captain’s custom or patronage. The result of his inquiries showed that Captain Standish was an unscrupulous, unprincipled man--a man who paid his way, simply because he had plenty of money wherewith to gratify his desires, but who did not shrink from a dishonourable act, or hesitate at a baseness, where dishonourable, or base, dealing could further his aims. He had contrived in a brief career to do as much mischief as would have earned for a young nobleman a handsome reputation, in the days when men wore powder and patches, and considered iniquity a distinction. Another man in Samuel Chumney’s position might have made an immediate use of his knowledge, and let his friend know the kind of person he had admitted to his house; but Mr. Chumney preferred to wait for some crushing proof of the captain’s unworthiness, and he was not disinclined to let Bella proceed far enough in her folly to disenchant her husband. ‘It will give Piper the whip-hand over her for the rest of his days,’ he thought, ‘if he finds her out in a compromising flirtation with this fellow Standish.’ This was the condition of affairs up to the evening before the foxhunt, when Mr. Chumney, through one of his horsey informants, became acquainted with the history of Captain Standish’s purchase of the black called Erebus. This piece of information he considered it his duty to impart to Mr. Piper, without loss of time, so he walked over to Little Yafford next morning for that purpose. It was the last day of October, and a lovely morning. The wind was in the south, a wind so balmy and gentle, that it only caressed the red and golden foliage, and hardly scattered the leaves. Here and there a withered leaf dropped lazily down from the dark brown branches, wet and shining with autumnal dew. The grass beside the road glistened in the morning light. A veil of vapour shrouded the hills, and gave a look of mystery to the distant landscape. Now and then a gleam of sunshine pierced the mist, brightening and warming all things, and then all was gray again.