The Squire groaned--wishing all drink was at the bottom of the Thames. "And he was buried in Finchley Cemetery, ma'am, we hear?" "Finchley? Well, now yes, I believe it was Finchley, sir," replied Mrs. Mapping, considering--and I could see the woman was speaking the truth according to her recollection. "The burial fees are low at Finchley, sir." "Then he did die here, ma'am--Mr. Francis Radcliffe?" "Sure enough he did, sir. And a sad thing it was, one young like him. But whether his name was Radcliffe, or not, I couldn't take upon myself to say. I don't remember to have heard his name." "Couldn't you have read it on the coffin-plate?" asked the Squire, explosively. "One might have thought if you heard it in no other way, you'd see it there." "Well, sir, I was ill myself at the time, and in a good deal of trouble beside, and didn't get upstairs much out of my kitchen below. Like enough it was Radcliffe: I can't remember." "His brother brought him--and lodged here with him--did he not?" "Like enough, sir," she repeated. "There was two or three of 'em out and in often, I remember. Mr. Pitt, and others. I was that ill, myself, that some days I never got out of bed at all. I know it was a fine shock to me when my sister came down and said the young man was dead. She was seeing to things a bit for me during my illness. His rantings had been pitiful." "Could I see your sister, ma'am?" asked the Squire. "She's gone to Manchester, sir. Her husband has a place there now." "Don't you recollect the elder Mr. Radcliffe?" pursued the Squire. "The young man's brother? He was staying up in London two or three times about some shipping." "I should if I saw him, sir, no doubt. Last year I had rare good luck with my rooms, never hardly had 'em empty. The young man who died had the first-floor apartments. Well, yes, I do remember now that some gentleman was here two or three times from the country. A farmer, I think he was. A middle-aged man, sir, so to say; fifty, or thereabouts; with grey hair." "That's him," interrupted the Squire, forgetting his grammar in his haste. "Should know the description of him anywhere, shouldn't we, Johnny? Was he here at the time of the young man's death, ma'am?" "No, sir. I remember as much as that. He had gone back to the country." Mrs. Mapping stood, smoothing down the apron, waiting to hear what we wanted next, and perhaps not comprehending the drift of the visit yet. "Where's that Mr. Pitt to be found?" "Law, sir! as if I knew!" she exclaimed. "I've never set eyes on him since that time. He didn't live here, sir; only used to come in and out to see to the sick young man. I never heard where he did live." There was nothing more to wait for. The Squire slipped half-a-crown into the woman's hand as we went out, and she curtsied again and thanked him--in spite of the better days. Another question occurred to him.