Some one was speaking with him; whether man or woman I could not tell, the voice was so faint. And it seemed that while Mr. Barley must have had his face turned to me, and the wind, setting this way, bore his accents with it, the other person must have faced the opposite way, and the voice was lost. "You are stupid, woman!" were the first distinct words I heard from him, seemingly spoken in sudden petulance. "Where's the use of your telling me this much, if you can't tell more?" It was a woman, then. Sure and swiftly came the conviction of her identity to me with a force I could not account for. Lizzy Dene. "It must have been a very serious attack, for a physician to be telegraphed for in that haste," resumed Mr. Edwin Barley. "And to be well again now to go out for a whole day by rail!" A pause. It was occupied by the answer, but of that I could not hear so much as a tone. Mr. Edwin Barley resumed. "There's a mystery about it all that I can't dive into. There's a mystery altogether about Harry Chandos. That attack upon him in the avenue was a curious thing. And his mother? Is she visible yet?" Another inaudible answer. "Well, you must work better, if you work at all. This is your affair, mind; not mine; I did not ask you to bring me news, or to look into letters—what do you say? Not able to look into letters? You can read, I suppose?" It _is_ Lizzy Dene, my conscience whispered me; for a half doubt had been crossing me of Mrs. Penn. "Oh, I understand; don't get the chance of looking into them?" he went on. "Well—it is your own affair, I repeat; but as you choose to make the offer of looking out for discoveries, _I shall expect you to make_ some. Do you hear?" he continued, in his voice of power. "What? Speak low, for fear of hearers? Nonsense; there's no one to hear. If you want money for bribery, of course I can furnish you with it, if you undertake to use it legitimately." Again a pause. The higher Mr. Edwin Barley raised his voice, the lower the other seemed to speak. "No, you are wrong; the greatest enemy to your plans would be Harry Chandos; the rest are women. That there's something to be discovered connected with _him_, and at this present time, I am absolutely certain of. Discovered it shall be," emphatically pronounced Mr. Edwin Barley. "About his wife?" he suddenly asked. "All that's wanted is the clue," he recommenced, after listening to the answer. "_It is to be had_, I know. They'd not live in this dark, retired manner for nothing; and I have my theory about it. What do you say?—oh, well, yes, if you like; I did not ask you to repeat things of the family to me, you know; you are doing it of your own spontaneous will. How long have you lived in this neighbourhood?" Strain my ears as I would, I could not catch more than a faint sound of whisper in reply.