The fury of the fire was over when they came upon the scene and stopped before the ravaged and gutted carcass of the once picturesque inn. But still the blackened walls blossomed with little spits and fronds of flame; and scarlet lines drawn upon the heavy curtains of smoke showed where smouldering beams clung tenacious of their hold. The road was full of a drifting and pungent fog, and therein the whole village was alive, scurrying hither and thither in excitement like a colony of ants whose nest had been overturned. On the outskirts of this press the two men, dismounted, were standing holding their horses, when a country youth, his red face all blubbered with tears and dust, came hurriedly up to them and seized Tuke by the sleeve. “Master--Master Took!” he exclaimed in a broken voice. “Jim!--Good God, man! how did this come about?” “By foul play, your honour; and may the living hell be their portion that done it!” “Steady, man!” “I’ll ha’ justice o’ them--I’ll ha’ justice o’ them, by the Lord! Look at it! look here! Missy Pollack’s home--her that never done a hard thing by a soul, and treated poor Jim like a man. Drove a pauper at a blow, and her grandfather all burnt and choked and she cluckin’ to him like a hen that’s laid.” “Where is she? Take me to her.” The poor fellow pulled him forward immediately, shouting to those who interposed to make way for the gentleman that was come to see justice done on scoundrels and murderers. Some stared and some grinned, but one and all were too loutishly absorbed in the extempore show that yet crackled for their benefit to thrust an undesirable company upon him. So they let him pass undisturbed, and continued to ply the ashes from their useless buckets with what water they could find, while buffoonery and the animal jest at another’s misfortune kept them in a fine glow of good-humour. To a barn in an adjacent yard Jim conducted his captive by way of a side-gate that had been closed against intruders. Within, gathered about the open door of the shed, was a little knot of men, whose dress showed them for the most part to be of the respectable class of village gentry. These Tuke saluted as he advanced. “I trust, gentlemen,” he said, “that this I hear of the innkeeper is an exaggerated report?” One of the company, who was muffled up in a great surtout and swung a horn lantern in his hand, detached himself from the group and came towards him. “The man is dead, sir,” he said. “Dead?” “He has succumbed to shock induced by a period of inhalation of irrespirable gases, and aggravated by some superficial burns. I am Dr. Harmsworth, sir, at your service.” Mr. Tuke bowed. “And can you inform me, Dr. Harmsworth,” he said, “of the history of this catastrophe?”