At this moment the footman appeared in answer to the bell, and in obedience to his master's peremptory order left the room again for the purpose of bringing in old Battersea for examination. While waiting, neither Lady Meg nor the major spoke, as they both considered, and truly, that nothing further could be said until the truth was forced from the tramp. Then the present aspect of the case might change, and an important step might be taken toward the solution of the mystery. As dirty and disreputable as ever, Battersea, rolling his cap in his dirty hands, made his appearance on the threshold of the library, conducted by the disgusted footman. When the door was closed behind him, and he stood alone before those who were about to examine him, he shifted uneasily from one foot to the other, blinked his bleared eyes, and blushed as with the shame of guilt through the sallow darkness of his skin. Jen, with the military instinct of command fully awakened within him, looked sternly at the feeble old creature, and questioned him sharply, as though he were talking to a soldier who had done wrong. On her part, Lady Meg left the most part of the examination to the major; but she listened with anxious looks and parted lips to every word which fell from the tramp's lips. The death of the man whom she had loved so deeply had inflicted terrible anguish upon her loving heart, and, as a tribute to his memory, she was anxious to punish his assassin. But at present, influenced by the views of the major, she began to waver in her opinion regarding the guilt of the weak-brained creature who stood trembling nervously at the doorway. "What is your name, man?" demanded Jen, commencing in the orthodox manner. "Battersea, sir." "What else?" "Nothin' else," retorted the tramp sullenly. "My father was black, an' my mother she was white; an' they weren't married. I was brought up in Battersea parish, so I took that name, I did, not havin' any right to another name." "How do you get your living?" "I begs!" said Battersea, candidly. "And when I can't get nuffin I steals." "I am sure of that," remarked Jen, taking the devil-stick off the table. "And you stole this, I'll be bound." "I didn't. I found it." "Oh!" said the major, in a satirical tone. "You found it? Where?" "At Missus Dallas' place." Jen started, and looked sharply at the old man, who, to all appearances, was answering his questions with all possible candor. "Be more explicit, man," he said sternly. "What do you mean by Mrs. Dallas' place? The house or the grounds?" "The groun's, near the gate." "When did you find it?" "The day arter th' young gen'man was killed." "And why didn't you give it up to the police?" Battersea scowled. "I wanted money for it, I did," he said huskily, "an' they wouldn't give no tin to me fur findin' it. She," pointing to Lady Meg, "is fond of pretty things, so I guv it her for five shillin'; but she didn't pay me for it."