Lord Carboro' took the matter down on the pier with him and sat at the end to watch Fisherman Dick shrimping; and as he watched him he did not think of the sturdy Spanish-looking fellow, but of Lady Teigne's jewels, and as he thought he tried to undo this knot. "If Denville killed the old woman for her diamonds, how is it he remained so poor?" "Thinking, Lord Carboro'?" said a voice. The old beau looked up quickly and encountered the dark eyes of Major Rockley, who had also been intently watching Dick Miggles, using an opera-glass, so as to see him empty the shrimps into his creel. "Yes: thinking," said Lord Carboro' in a short, sharp way. "Like to know what I was thinking?" The Major shrugged his shoulders. "Of the sea, perhaps, or the vessels passing, or Lady Drelincourt's illness." "No, sir," said Lord Carboro' shortly. "I was thinking of Lady Teigne's jewels." Rockley raised his eyebrows, and looked at the old man curiously. "Of Lady Teigne's jewels?" "Yes, sir; and it seems a strange thing to me that if Denville killed the old woman for her diamonds, he has not become rich." "To be sure," said Rockley; "it does seem strange." "It's all strange, sir, deuced strange," said the old man. "Took me aback, for I never suspected Denville, and I don't suspect him now." They stood looking at each other for a few minutes, and then Rockley said quietly: "A great many people seem to believe him innocent. Do you think they will get him off?" "Yes, of course--of course, sir. It would be an abominable thing to bring such a charge home to the poor old fellow. Why, I suppose, sir, that even you would not wish that." "I should be deeply grieved, my lord," said Rockley. "Good morning." "The scoundrel's still thinking about Claire," said the old beau, as he sat gazing after the handsome cavalry officer. "Well, it's of no use to sit here. I'll go up to Clode's, and see if there is any news." He trudged slowly along the pier and the Parade, stopping now and then to take a pinch of snuff. He was indulging in a very big pinch, standing by the edge of the path, when there was the trampling of hoofs, and Cora Dean's pony-carriage was drawn up by his side. "Let me drive you there," said Cora's deep, rich voice. "Drive me! Where?" said the old man. "Where you ought to be going; to the prison to see poor Mr Denville, and get him out. I haven't patience with you people leaving the poor old man there--you who professed to be his friends." "Hah! Yes! No, I don't think I'll trouble you, my dear Miss Dean," said the old man, recovering his balance, and speaking in his old sarcastic tone. "You are such a female Jehu." "Such a what?" said Cora. "Female Jehu, my dear. You drive furiously, but you can't control your steeds. I don't want to be brought ashore in triumph. It's all very well for you to come on to the beach like a goddess in your car, but to me it means rheumatism and pain. So, no thanks."