“Ah, well; that doesn’t matter! When you hear the sequel of the story you will be able to imagine what a Breton peasant is capable of. He is the equal of the Norman peasant, and no French novelist has ever yet dared to write down the actual! truth about the Norman peasant. I told you that Mrs. Ilam and the old Frenchman had a chat on Exeter platform. She told him that she was giving him a new charge, preferring to take the other boy herself. It was arranged that the new charge should accompany the Breton to France, and live with him as his foster-child. Terms were fixed up, no doubt to the entire satisfaction of the peasant. Then Mrs. Ilam ventured to play her great card. She informed the Frenchman that his new charge was a very delicate plant, frequently ill, and not apparently destined to long life. This, by the way, was grossly untrue. ‘Of course, if he were to die,’ she said in effect to the peasant, ‘you would lose the income which I shall pay to you for looking after the child, and to compensate you for that loss I will promise to give you, if he dies, the sum of five hundred pounds.’ I expect she managed to put a peculiar and sinister emphasis on these words. Anyhow, the Frenchman understood. That was just the kind of thing that you might rely on a Breton peasant to comprehend without too much explanation. Five hundred pounds is five hundred pounds; it is over twelve thousand francs, and twelve thousand francs to a Breton peasant is worth anything--it is worth eternal torture.” “And so, in due course, Mrs. Ilam received news of her stepson’s death?” “In due course she received news of her stepson’s death,” said Jetsam. “It took a considerable time--six years, in fact--‘but it was accompanied by legal proof, and when she received it Mrs. Ilam must have been as happy as the day is long, especially as her own boy was growing up strong and well, and Mr. Ilam had taken quite a fancy to him. So all trace of the crime--would you call it a crime, or only a pleasing manifestation of a mother’s love?--all trace of the crime was lost, for the French peasant died; the English wife of the French peasant had expired a long time before.” And Jetsam paused again. “I am accepting all that you say as gospel,” said Carpentaria. “Because somehow it impresses me vividly as being true.” Here he looked at Josephus Ilam, who avoided his glance. “But how does this matter concern yourself, and in what way did you come upon the traces of the crime?” “I’ll tell you,” Jetsam recommenced. “It was like this. The boy was not dead.” “Not dead?”