“Why, no, sir, I should think a particularly safe one on this occasion. The servant and the linkboy could both testify to the attack by the footpads, and it would be taken as certain—just as everybody did take it—that the footpads had succeeded in their purpose before they fled.” “Ay, but the footpads themselves knew they hadn’t. They had only to come forward and say as much.” “But by coming forward to say it, sir, they must needs have incriminated themselves of the murder. No, there was little reason to fear that, I should consider: as a matter of fact, they never did come forward. Nor I never heard of their even threatening to do so—in a way of extorting money, you understand. No, sir, a very safe crime on the part of the two gentlemen, if I may say so again. And, lookye, sir, how circumstances alter the appearance of things. Suppose my lord had lost the money in the gaming-house that night, and these two gentlemen had won it, as might very easily have happened. There would then have been no crime in their possessing it, no dishonour, no ungentlemanliness; they would have had no reason for concealment. But as matters were, if the truth ever got out, are there any bounds to the horror and ignominy with which the names of those gentlemen would be held by the great world they moved in?” “But if it never got out, then how the devil do you know it? Answer me that, man?” “In a moment, sir. I should have thought you would be curious as to who these gentlemen were?” “Well, who were they? In course I’m curious.” “One of them was a certain baronet, since deceased; the other, Robert Foxwell, Esquire.” “Eh!” “Robert Foxwell, Esquire,” repeated the stranger. Mr. Thornby’s surprise, as depicted on his countenance, was as jubilant as if he had received sudden news of an unexpected bequest. He rose and snapped his fingers in the air, and seemed with difficulty to restrain a shout. But after a moment he sat down again, and eagerly demanded: “But how do you know it?—how do you know it, man? How are you sure of it?” “You shall see in a minute, sir. The baronet had excellent luck with the money he took, and was able to make as good a figure as ever. But the adage, sir, in regard to ill-gotten gains, though it failed in his case, was fulfilled in Mr. Foxwell’s. There _does_ seem to be a partiality shown in the workings of Providence sometimes. Mr. Foxwell had the worst of luck, and soon the bailiffs were after him. He was taken to a sponging-house, and, after trying friend after friend in vain, he saw imprisonment for debt staring him in the face. I suppose his interest in the family estate hereabouts was tied up in some way.” “Ay, he could touch nothing but his share of the income,” said the Squire. “And on that, no doubt, he had already raised what he could. A mere drop in the bucket, I dare say. However it be, he was certainly in a desperate condition. I don’t know whether you’ve ever seen the inside of a debtors’ prison, sir,—”