The summons was responded to by a yellow-haired youth of sixteen. “At what hour did I reach home last night?” asked Baldry. “The clock had just struck eleven as you drove into the yard,” answered Ned. “Did I tell you, or did I not, that I had stopped and spoken to some one a few minutes previously?” “You said that you had just parted from Lawyer Hoskyns. That you had had five minutes’ talk with him, and a pinch out of his box,” answered the lad without a moment’s hesitation. “There! what did I tell you?” said Baldry, triumphantly. “Baldry, I give you my word of honour,” said Hoskyns, “that I was not out of the house after eight o’clock, and that I never met you yesterday at all—indeed, I’ve not seen you to speak to you for nearly a week.” “Evidently a case of mistaken identity,” said Tom. “Mistaken identity be hanged!” said the irate wine merchant. “How about the snuff-box? Could I be mistaken in that? Not likely. No—no. I respect old friends, but I’ll take the evidence of my own senses in preference to any man’s word, however long I’ve known him.” And with these words, Baldry retired into the recesses of his counting-house, and shut the door behind him with a bang. Hoskyns and Tom resumed their walk down the street. “An extraordinary circumstance, very,” said the lawyer. “I am quite at a loss how to explain it.” “Baldry was always noted as being fond of his own spirits, wasn’t he?” asked Tom. “He was indeed, poor man: and I am afraid the habit clings to him still. He must have been in liquor last evening. That is the only way in which I can account for his hallucination.” END OF VOL. I. BILLING, PRINTER, GUILDFORD, SURREY