The lawyer bowed slightly again, and the earl proceeded to tell his tale. Passing lightly over his own forgetfulness and negligence, he laid stress on all the facts which seemed to show that Lindo could not have accepted the living in good faith. He certainly made out a plausible case, but his animus in telling it was so apparent that, when he had finished and wound up by announcing his firm resolve to eject the young man from his cure, Mr. Bonamy only shook his head with a doubtful smile. “You will have to prove guilty knowledge on his part, my lord,” he said gravely. “So I will!” quoth the earl roundly. Mr. Bonamy seemed for a moment inclined to shake his head again, but he thought better of it. “Well, you may be right, my lord,” he answered. “At any rate—without going further into the matter at this moment, or considering what course your lordship, could or should adopt—I think I can do one thing. I can lay some information on this point before you at once.” “What! To show that he knew?” cried the earl eagerly. “Yes, I think so. But as to its weight——” “What is it? What is it? Let me hear it!” was the impatient interruption. The earl was on his feet in a moment. “Why, gadzooks, we may have him in a corner before the day is out, Mr. Bonamy,” he continued. “True? I will be bound it is true!” Mr. Bonamy looked as if he very much doubted that, but he offered no further opposition. Begging Lord Dynmore—who could not look upon him with sufficient admiration, so much was he struck with this strange preparedness—to excuse him for a moment, he left the room. He returned almost immediately, however, followed by a man whom the earl at once recognized, and recognized with the utmost astonishment. “Why, you confounded rascal!” he gasped. “What are you doing here?” It was Felton. Yet not the same Felton whose surreptitious visit to the rectory had been cut short by Mr. Clode. A few weeks of idleness and drinking, a month or two at the Bull and Staff had much changed the once sleek and respectable servant. Had he gone to the rectory for help now, his tale could not have passed muster even for a moment. His coat had come to hang loosely about him, and he wore no tie. His hands were dirty and tremulous, his eyes shifty and bloodshot. His pasty face had grown puffy and was stained with blotches which it was impossible to misinterpret. He had gone down the hill fast. Seeing his old master before him he began to whimper, but the lawyer cut him short. “This man, who says he was formerly your servant, has come to me with a strange story, Lord Dynmore,” he said. “Ten to one it’s a lie!” replied the peer, scowling darkly at the poor wretch.