"Because, in such a case as this, I think it only right and fair that every one who has the misfortune to be mixed up in it _should_ be searched," replied the lunatic, as they went out together. "It is a satisfaction to both parties. Unless you offered to search me, you could not have offered to search that woman; and I suspected her." "Suspected _her_!" cried the Squire, opening his eyes. "If I didn't suspect, I doubted. Why on earth did she cause her dog to make all that row the moment we got into the tunnel? It must have been done then. I should not be startled out of my senses if I heard that that silent man by my side and hers was in league with her." The Squire stood in a kind of amazement, trying to recall what he could of the little man in spectacles, and see if things would fit into one another. "Don't you like her look?" he asked suddenly. "No, I _don't_," said the lunatic, turning himself about. "I have a prejudice against painted women: they put me in mind of Jezebel. Look at her hair. It's awful." He went out in a whirlwind, and took his seat in the carriage, not a moment before it puffed off. "_Is_ he a lunatic?" I whispered to the Squire. "He a lunatic!" he roared. "You must be a lunatic for asking it, Johnny. Why, that's--that's----" Instead of saying any more, he showed me the card, and the name nearly took my breath away. He is a well-known London man, of science, talent, and position, and of world-wide fame. "Well, I thought him nothing better than an escaped maniac." "_Did_ you?" said the Squire. "Perhaps he returned the compliment on you, sir. But now--Johnny, who has got my pocket-book?" As if it was any use asking me? As we turned back to the station-master's room, the lady came into it, evidently resenting the search, although she had seemed to acquiesce in it so readily. "They were rude, those women. It is the first time I ever had the misfortune to travel with men who carry pocket-books to lose them, and I hope it will be the last," she pursued, in scornful passion, meant for the Squire. "One generally meets with _gentlemen_ in a first-class carriage." The emphasis came out with a shriek, and it told on him. Now that she was proved innocent, he was as vexed as she for having listened to the advice of the scientific man--but I can't help calling him a lunatic still. The Squire's apologies might have disarmed a cross-grained hyena; and she came round with a smile. "If any one _has_ got the pocket-book," she said, as she stroked her dog's ears, "it must be that silent man with the gold spectacles. There was no one else, sir, who could have reached you without getting up to do it. And I declare on my honour, that when that commotion first arose through my poor little dog, I felt for a moment something like a man's arm stretched across me. It could only have been his. I hope you have the numbers of the notes." "But I have not," said the Squire.