“More than that,” continued Mr. Sparrow, in a state of mild excitement; “Mrs. Williams tells me that the place is barricaded as if for a siege, and that a large mastiff is prowling--loose, actually loose!--about the place, day and night.” “Great Heav----” Miss Amelia tried to ejaculate, but Mr. Sparrow, thoroughly warmed to his work, rushed on: “I’ve heard, too, from several people, that lights are seen burning in the windows nearly the whole night through. Indeed, the people in the village--of course it’s very foolish--declare that Mr. Faradeane never goes to bed. Several persons have seen him walking up and down The Dell lane at the most unearthly hours. Now, Miss Olivia, what do you think of the affair?” and the little man leaned back with an air of satisfaction. Olivia laughed thoughtfully. “Yes, it is rather mysterious,” she admitted, to his palpable delight. “Do you think that he is a coiner, or simply a gentleman suffering from the pangs of a guilty conscience?” Mr. Sparrow could not see the twinkle in the dark eyes, and as the sweet voice was perfectly grave, took the question seriously. “Well, I must confess that the thought did--er--cross my mind; I mean in respect to coining; one reads such--er--extraordinary stories.” “Ah, yes!” breathed Miss Amelia, with a delighted little gasp. “Good gracious! fancy a coiner in Hawkwood! Of course you have hinted your suspicions to Smallbone?” Smallbone was the village policeman, who, if having nothing to do from one year’s end to the other can produce happiness, should have been in a continual state of felicity. “Well--er--no,” said Mr. Sparrow. “Perhaps it occurred to Mr. Sparrow, aunt, that even coiners are not so utterly imbecile as to set about their work by attracting the attention of all their neighbors,” said Olivia. “Ahem! That is true! That is very true,” remarked Mr. Sparrow, with a little cough. “And I confess that the counterfeit coinage theory scarcely holds good. Mr. Faradeane does not give one the idea of--er--that class of criminal.” “Is he more like a burglar?” asked Olivia, with apparent innocence. Mr. Sparrow shook his head. “No, no, dear me, no! I think I said he was most distinguished-looking. Quite--er--aristocratic, and--er--patrician. Remarkably good looking, also.” Miss Amelia pushed her chair nearer a book cabinet, and seized “The Peerage.” “Oh, I’ve looked through that,” remarked Mr. Sparrow, with charming simplicity. “There is no mention of the name of Faradeane in that or ‘The County Families.’” Miss Amelia closed the book with a gesture of despair. “Is there no way of finding out something about him, dear Mr. Sparrow?” “I know of none,” he replied, solemnly. “And I can only think of one,” said Olivia. Both pairs of eyes were turned upon her with eager impatience. “Really! Now, what is that, my dear?” demanded Aunt Amelia. “You might ask him to tell you his history,” she said, without moving a muscle.