"Do you know particulars of this pretended death?" at length I asked. "Particulars? I should think I do," answered Johnson, nodding to his man, who went out. "The young gentleman's body was found in the pool in Belgrave Park a week ago last Sunday, shockingly disfigured, for the eels had been at his face, but he was swore to at the inquest by his manservant and his own father. His friends had been looking for him high and low, for more than a week, when they dragged the pool." The innkeeper paused at this. "Go on," I said hoarsely. So Boswell's craft had dressed some other man in my clothes and mangled his face. "At the inquest, Luke Barnby, who had been the young squire's bodyservant, told how one of the Dutchmen had tried to take his master's life, and how Master Frank went out to fight the Dutchman on Sunday, the very Sunday before the one he was found, and had never been seen or heard of since. So order was given to arrest the Dutchman, and they took him." Again the narrator paused. "Well, what next?" I asked. "They took him," repeated Johnson, "but they didn't keep him long. Some of the Belton and Beltoft people went by night meaning to tear the murderer limb from limb, and even some of the gipsies, that's been thereabout so long, joined 'em. They broke into the outhouse at Squire Stovin's, where he was locked up, but somehow he got away." What more easy trick could have been played? The gipsies had befooled the rest in the darkness, and smuggled Vliet out of danger. Fierce rage against my persecutors restored to me the wits which had been scattered in my first consternation. "All this you have told me is a pack of lies. I don't mean that you have lied," I added, noting the heat in the man's face, "but it is a diabolical plot. Another man has been buried under my name--a man who was dressed in my clothing, and his features obliterated cunningly. I am Frank Vavasour, and have been kept prisoner in the vaults of Melwood Priory while this devilry was doing. Remove this thing from my leg. Let me have a room, and soap and water. Tell your people to get me pen, ink, and paper. Have a lad in readiness to ride to Temple Belwood, and another to go to Tudworth Hall." "And who's to pay, my lad? The mistress will charge high for letting a room to the like o' you. I don't send horse and man up and down the country till I see the colour of your money. Pay to-day and trust to-morrow is my motto." "There will be no difficulty about that. My friends will----" "No, it won't do, my man," said mine host. "Look ye, there's a pump in the yard. You can wash there, and welcome, and then do your own errands on Shanks his pony."