"Not until last summer, sir." "What happened then?" "His sister, sir, our Emily, she was out walkin' with Harry Smith--young Smith from next door to us, sir--and she was down in the West End o' London with 'im one day, and 'oo should they meet, sir, but Paul." "Did they speak to him?" "Yes, sir. They says, ''Ello, Paul, we didn't know as 'ow you was 'ome,' and 'e seemed upset like at first, and pretended 'e didn't know 'em, and that they'd made a mistake. But they chaffed 'im and went on talkin', so I suppose Paul 'e thought it best to make a clean breast of it all." "Do you mean to say that he told his sister and his friend that he was carrying on a criminal fraud against the Earl of Radclyffe?" "Oh, no, sir; not all that. 'E only told 'em that 'e was in for a good thing. A gentleman's gentleman 'e told 'em 'e was and doin' well for hisself. 'E said 'e would come and see the fam'ly--'e meant me and 'is mother, sir--some day soon. But 'e never come." "Did he say where he was living?" "Yes, sir. 'E gave 'is address to Emily. Up 'Ampstead way it were. A long way, sir. Me and 'is mother never seemed to 'ave the time to go and look 'im up; but Emily she went with young Smith one Sunday, but they never found the street, not where Paul said 'e was livin'. There weren't no such street in 'Ampstead, sir." "And you never thought of making further inquiries?" "No, sir." This again with that quiet philosophy, the stolid fatalism, peculiar to those who live from day to day, from hand to mouth, who have neither leisure nor desire to peer outside the very circumscribed limits of their own hearths. "You never made any effort to know more about what your son was doing or how he was living?" suggested the coroner, who, though accustomed to this same quiet philosophy in men and women of that class, was nevertheless strangely moved in this instance by the expression of a fatalism that carried in its train such extraordinary consequences. But Jim Baker, mildly astonished at the coroner's insistence over so obvious a matter, explained meekly: "We knew that Paul was doin' well, you see, sir. 'E was that splendidly dressed when Emily and young Smith seed 'im they was quite respectful like to 'im. So we knew 'e was all right." "And you never troubled any further about your son?" "We didn't want to interfere with 'im, sir. Gentlemen don't allus like their servants to be 'aving visitors, or to 'obnob with poor people like us." More calm philosophy not unmixed with a delicate sense of pride this time, and a sublime if unconscious vein of selflessness.