Thus much,' said he, 'I know; but I must know more. You must identify the children as the same first delivered to you by Rust. You must disclose the names of the persons with whom they lived in the country. You must also give me such information as will enable us to fasten this crime on Rust. Another person could have proved all this--the man Blossom; but you know he is dead.' He paused, for Mrs. Blossom's face grew deadly pale as he spoke. It was momentary, however; and might have passed away entirely, had not a strange suspicion fastened itself on his mind. He added in a slow tone: 'What ailed him, _you_ know best.' Mrs. Blossom's thin lips grew perfectly white; and moved as if she were attempting to speak. 'Will you give me the information I require? or will you accept the alternative?' said Holmes, still keeping his eye upon her. 'Go on; what do you want?' demanded she, in a quick husky voice. 'You are acquainted with Michael Rust?' 'I am,' replied she, in the same quick, nervous manner. 'How did you first become acquainted with him?' 'You know all that,' was the abrupt reply. 'Why should I go over it again? It's all true, as you said it.' Holmes paused to make a note of it, and then asked: 'What is the name of the person, in the country, who took charge of the children?' 'I don't know,' replied the woman. 'Michael Rust sent a man for them, who took them off.' 'Who was this man?' 'I don't know; I never saw him. Mr. Blossom gave the children to him, and never told me his name.' 'Good,' said Holmes, in his short, abrupt manner: 'Where are these children now?' 'One's at _his_ house,' replied she, pointing to Harson. 'The other, by this time, is with a man named Grosket. He's been arter him, and I suppose has got him by this time.' 'Enoch Grosket?' inquired Holmes. The woman nodded. 'I told him where he'd find him. He went straight off to fetch him.' 'Will you swear that they are the same children brought to you four years since?' said Holmes, pausing in his writing, and running his eye over the notes which he had made. 'Do you know them to be the same?' 'The man said so, who brought 'em back at the end of the year. That's all I know about it. They never left me arter that.' 'Who was that man?' 'Tim Craig,' replied the woman. 'And he's dead. The only person who could reveal their place of concealment during that year, and the name of those who had the care of them. The chain is broken, by which to identify them as the lost children of George Colton. Who can aid us in this?' 'I CAN!' said a voice. All three started, for there, at their very elbow, stood Michael Rust; but Rust, fearfully altered, worn down, wan, haggard, with sunken cheeks, and features rigid and colorless, as if cut from wax, and with an eye of fire. But wrecked as he was, there was still that strange sneering smile on his lip, which seemed as if only parting to utter sarcasm and mockery. But now he was serious in his mood, for he repeated: