"He _did_, and no mistake," nodded the shrewd detective, who, upon reflection, saw no reason why he should not speak out. "He made as sure that it was suicide, at the time, as you are that that's a inkpot afore you. But if he has not drawed round a bit to the contrary opinion, my name's not Jonas Butterby. Bede Greatorex, in his innard breast, has picked up doubts of the missing man, that worthy Pitman." Mr. Brown got up to do something to the window-blind, and the peculiar look that crossed his face--not a smile, not a spasm of pain, not a sharp contraction of fear, but something of all three--was thereby hidden from his visitor. He was calm enough when he came back again. "Did Mr. Bede Greatorex tell you so?" "Not he. He let a word drop or two, and I could see at once the man was on his mind. But that's not our business, Mr. Brown, neither must it be made so, you understand. What I want to talk about, is the cheque affair. Let's go over the particulars quietly together." Not so very quietly to begin with. A swinging-open of the street door as if the house itself were being pushed back; a stamping of feet in the passage; a shouting out to everybody--Mrs. J., Miss Rye, the servant Betsey--to bring him hot water, announced the arrival at home of Mr. Roland Yorke. CHAPTER XIX. A FOUNTAIN SHIVERED. The day is not yet over. It had been a busy one at the house of Greatorex and Greatorex. What with business, what with inward vexation, of one or two kinds, Mr. Greatorex felt cross and weary as the evening drew on. There had been some unnecessary delay in the prosecution of a cause being tried at Westminster, for which Bede was in fault. A large bill for fripperies had been presented to the office that day, and by mistake to Mr. Greatorex instead of to Mrs. Bede's husband. The capricious treatment being dealt out to Miss Channing had been spoken of by Jane to her grandpapa; and preparations for another enormous reception for that night were in active progress. All these matters, as well as others, were trying the usually placid temper of Mr. Greatorex. He did not appear at the dinner-table that evening, but had a chop taken to his private sitting-room. Calling for his son Bede, he found he was not forthcoming. Bede, Mr. Greatorex was told, had gone to London Bridge to meet a steamer from France, by which his wife's sister was expected. Jane Greatorex ran in to her grandpapa, and asked, spoilt child that she was, if he would not invite her and Miss Channing to drink tea with him: Mrs. Bede not having bidden them to the soirée. Yes, Mr. Greatorex said; they should spend the evening in his room. Closed in there quietly and snugly, they heard only as from a distance the turmoil of the large gathering above, and Mr. Greatorex partially forgot his cares.