“You mean—if it comes to precise particulars,” insinuated Blick. “But now look here, Roper. You knock about a good deal round this part, early and late, and I guess you’ve a pair of sharp eyes and a pair of sharp ears as well. Guy Markenmore’s dead!—good riddance to him, if you like!—I don’t care, I’m sure. But what’s it matter if you, if you have any knowledge of any sort about him, just before his death, if you let it out—especially if it’s made worth your while? For instance—in going about, as you do, have you ever seen anything suspicious, or met any suspicious characters? Have you ever heard or seen anything out of the common?” Roper looked from one visitor to another. The Professor, smoking a cigar, was watching him attentively. “Ain’t heard nothing about it’s being worth anybody’s while to tell anything as they might chance to know,” said Roper suddenly. Blick silently drew out his copy of the reward bill and handed it to the woodman; the Professor, keenly attentive, saw Roper’s eyes brighten at sight of the heavy type in which the particulars of Mrs. Braxfield’s reward were printed. He drew his heavy brows together as he laboriously read through the offer. “How does that strike you?” asked Blick presently. “There’s a hundred pounds to be picked up by anybody who can tell a bit. If you know anything—mind, Roper, I’m not implying that you do!—but—if you do—eh?” Roper began to fold up the reward bill; his eyes were fixed thoughtfully on the trees in front of him as he handed the paper back to the detective. “Keep it!” said Blick. “It’s posted all over the place. If you do chance to know anything at all, Roper, cut in first!” “That there money?—a hundred pound,” said Roper slowly. “Is it a sure thing?” “I’ll guarantee that!” answered Blick. “Dead certain!—to anybody who can give accurate information. Have you got any?” “Money down?” asked Roper. “Money down!” assented Blick. “Spot cash!” Roper’s pipe had gone out. He suddenly seated himself on the fallen tree, and proceeded to re-light the tobacco, with a deliberation which showed that he was being equally deliberate in his thoughts. “I could do wi’ a hundred pounds!” he said suddenly. “’Tain’t a great deal, sure-ly—but it ’ud do me a good turn. I’m sick and weary o’ these parts, now, and I want to be off—I want to start a new life, somewhere’s far away! That man Guy Markenmore—he broke my life in two, as you might say, and now—well, if I’ve the money I’ll go right away out o’ this, and see new places and faces, and try if I can’t forget. I’ve lived overmuch alone, and——” Blick had not been prepared for this outburst of feeling, nor was he prepared for an equally sudden, wholly impulsive, similar display from the Professor.