Chin Chin had reappeared, looking as unwholesome as a cold buckwheat cake. Retribution for his reticence had overtaken him. He began to tell Ira his story of the stable scene in his odd, broken English. While he was so doing, there was a knock at the door. A woman, Miss Arabella’s maid, to see Mr. Skerrett, and the Bowery Boy for Mr. Waddy. Ira interpreted Chin Chin’s tale to the other gentlemen. “Well,” said the Bowery Boy, who had waited with the imperturbableness of his class, “if somebody tried t’ pizen the hoss afore, it must be the same chap as has did it now. I found this piece of a ball in the manger, and Pallid’s down on his side as dead as Billy Kirby.” At this moment Peter Skerrett returned. “Send your people away, Waddy,” said he. “Mr. Budlong, these gentlemen are friends. We shall need their advice. Your wife and Mr. Belden are missing. They probably went in the Providence boat two hours ago.” For a moment no one spoke. Poor Bud sat staring, his face purple, unable for a breath to comprehend. Then his colour faded, his face fell suddenly into folds and wrinkles. He put down his head and groaned. Before anyone could find words of consolation, or realise how powerless to console any words must be, there came another knock at the door. It was Figgins, looking more like a ticket-of-leave man than ever. The bow in his legs seemed to have increased. “My master ’as ran hoff without payin’ me hanythink,” said he, cringing to Mr. Waddy. “Hi found them papers hamong ’is traps,” he continued, laying a packet on the table, “hand seein’ as they was marked with yer honour’s name, Hi thought yer honour mout give me five dollars fer a savink of ’em.” “So you’ve been thieving as well as trying to poison,” said Ira, as he opened the door. “Here, boys,” he called to Chin Chin and Bowery, in the adjoining room. “Lug this beggar off. We’ll have him attended to to-morrow.” “Hi yi! All same!” shouted Chin Chin, pouncing upon Figgins, and that worthy was dragged off with a Chinaman at his hair and the Bowery Boy playfully tapping him on the nob. Mr. Waddy picked up the packet of papers, to toss it after Figgins, but held his hand, with a sudden start of astonishment as his eye caught the indorsement. He stared at it a moment, scarce believing that he saw aright; a swift presentiment shook him, turned him hot, cold---- “Gentlemen,” said he, a little hoarsely, “I do not desire to pry into Mr. Belden’s private papers, but this parcel is indorsed in my own hand, or a hand that seems my own, as relating to me. I shall take the liberty, in your presence, of ascertaining the contents.” He opened them with trembling fingers: the whole plot burst upon him, foul, damnable, unspeakably vile. “My God!” thought he. “They showed her these--she could not doubt my own hand. And I have wronged her all these fifteen years! Oh, how I pardon her!” His hands were trembling still; his eyes were hot with tears--tears of joy, tears of thankfulness----