"Then why did he take the man's money, eh? Well, go on with your story." I breathed more easily for a while, but by-and-by, when I came to tell of the discussion by the old windmill, I felt her eyes upon me again. "Wait a moment. Captain Coffin gave you a key, and this key was to open the corner cupboard in his lodgings. Wasn't it rather foolish of him to send you, seeing that this Aaron Glass had seen you in his company, and would recognize you if he were watching the premises, which was just what you both feared?" "He didn't count on me to go," I admitted; "at least, not first along." "On whom, then?" "On Captain Branscome, ma'am." "Oh! Did he send you with that message to Captain Branscome?" "Yes, ma'am." "Then why didn't you tell us so? Well, when you took the message, what did Captain Branscome say? And why didn't he go?" "He was not at home, ma'am. Mr. Stimcoe had given us a holiday in honour of the prisoners." "I see. So Captain Branscome was off on an outing? When did he return?" "I didn't see him that evening, ma'am." "That's not an answer to my question. I asked, When did he return?" "Not until yesterday afternoon." I had to think before giving this answer, so long a stretch of time seemed to lie between me and yesterday afternoon. "Where had he been spending his holiday meanwhile?" "He didn't tell me, ma'am." "At all events, he didn't turn up for school next day, nor the next again, until the afternoon. Queer sort of academy, Stimcoe's. Did Mr. Stimcoe make any remark on his under-teacher's absence?" "No, ma'am." "The school went on just as usual?" "No-o, ma'am "--I hesitated--"not quite just as usual. Mr. Stimcoe was unwell." "Drunk?" "My dear Miss Belcher!" put in the scandalized Plinny. "A scholar, and such a gentleman!" "Fiddlestick-end!" snapped the unconscionable lady, not removing her eyes from mine. "Was this man Stimcoe drunk, eh? No; I beg your pardon," she corrected herself. "I oughtn't to be asking a boy to tell tales out of school. 'Thou shalt not say anything to get another fellow into trouble'--that's the first and last commandment--eh, Harry Brooks? But, my good soul"--she turned on Plinny--"if 'drunk and incapable' isn't written over the whole of that seminary, you may call me a Dutchwoman!" "There's a point or so clear enough," she announced, after a pause, when I had finished my story. "We must placard the whole country with a description of that prisoner chap Glass," said Mr. Jack Rogers; "and I'd best be off to Falmouth and get the bills printed at once." "Indeed?" said Miss Belcher, dryly. "And pray how are you proposing to describe him?" "Why, as for that, I should have thought Harry's description here, backed up by Mr. Goodfellow's, was enough to lay a trail upon any man. My dear Lydia, a fellow roaming the country in a red coat, drill trousers, and a japanned hat!"