Dr Twiddel, meanwhile, was no less anxious to make the Rev. Alexander Butler’s acquaintance than the Rev. Alexander Butler was to make his. Not that he was aware of that gentleman’s recent change of identity and occupation; but most industrious endeavors to find a certain Mr Beveridge were made in the course of the next few days. He and Welsh were living modestly and obscurely in the neighbourhood of the Pentonville Road, scouring the town by day, studying a map and laying the most ingenious plans at night. Welsh’s first effort, as soon as they were established in their new quarters, was to induce his friend to go down to Clankwood and make further inquiries, but this Twiddel absolutely declined to do. “My dear chap,” he answered, “supposing anything were found out, or even suspected, what am I to say? Old Congleton knows me well, and for his own sake doesn’t want to make a fuss; but if he really spots that something is wrong, he will be so afraid of his reputation that he’d give me away like a shot.” “How are you going to give things away by going down and seeing him?” “_If_ they have guessed anything, I’ll give it away. I haven’t your cheek, you know, and tact, and that sort of thing; you’d much better go yourself.” “_I?_ It isn’t my business.” “You seem to be making it yours. Besides, Dr Congleton thinks it is. You passed yourself off as the chap’s cousin, and it is quite natural for you to go and inquire.” Welsh pondered the point. “Hang it,” he said at last, “it would do just as well to write. Perhaps it’s safer after all.” “Well, you write.” “Why should I, rather than you?” “Because you’re his cousin.” Welsh considered again. “Well, I don’t suppose it matters much. I’ll write, if you’re afraid.” It was these amiable little touches in his friend’s conversation that helped to make Twiddel’s lot at this time so pleasant. In fact, the doctor was learning a good deal about human nature in cloudy weather. With great care Welsh composed a polite note of anxious inquiry, and by return of post received the following reply:— “MY DEAR SIR,—I regret to inform you that we have not so far recovered your cousin Mr Beveridge. In all probability, however, this cannot be long delayed now, as he was seen within the last week at a country house in Dampshire, and is known to have fled to London immediately on his recognition, but before he could be secured. He was then clean shaved, and had been passing under the name of Francis Bunker. We are making strict inquiries for him in London. “Nobody can regret the unfortunate circumstance of his escape more than I, and, in justice to myself and my institution, I can assure you that it was only through the most unforeseen and remarkable ingenuity on your cousin’s part that it occurred. “Trusting that I may soon be able to inform you of his recovery, I am, yours very truly, “ADOLPHUS S. CONGLETON.