He found them after a moment’s search and without himself examining them, pitched them to Jack, who had returned to his seat. The barrister untied the string and glancing quickly at the dates of the letters, arranged them in order and flattened them out on his knee. “Now,” he said, “number one! That I think I have seen before.” He mumbled over the opening sentences, and turned the page. “Hallo!” he exclaimed, holding the letter from him, and speaking in a tone of surprise—almost of consternation—“how is this?” “What?” said the rector. “You have destroyed the latter part of this letter! Why on earth did you do that?” “I never did,” Lindo answered incredulously. Obeying Jack’s gesture he came, and, standing by his chair, looked over his shoulder. Then he saw that part of the latter half of the sheet had been torn off. The signature and the last few words of the letter, were gone. He looked and wondered. “I never did it,” he said positively, “whoever did. You may be sure of that.” “You are certain?” “Absolutely certain,” the rector answered with considerable warmth. “I remember arranging and indorsing the packet. I am quite sure that this letter was intact then, for I read over every one. That was a few evenings after I came here.” “Have you ever shown the letters to any one?” Jack asked suspiciously. “Never,” said the rector; “they have never been removed from this cupboard, to my knowledge, since I put them there.” “Think! I want you to be quite sure,” Jack rejoined, pressing his point steadily; “you see this letter is rendered utterly worthless by the mutilation. Indeed, to produce it would be to raise a natural suspicion that the last sentence of the letter was not in our favor, and we had got rid of it. Of course the chances are that the earl’s solicitors have copies, but for the present that is not our business.” “Well,” said the rector somewhat absently—he had been rather thinking than listening—“I do remember now a circumstance which may account for this. A short time after I came a man broke into the house and ransacked this cupboard. Possibly he did it.” “A burglar, do you mean? Was he caught?” the barrister asked, figuratively pricking up his ears. “No—or, rather, I should say yes,” the rector answered. And then he explained that his curate, taking the man red-handed, had let him go, in the hope that, as it was his first offence, he would take warning and live honestly. “But who was the burglar?” Jack inquired. “You know, I suppose? Is he in the town now?” “Clode never told me his name,” Lindo answered. “The man made a point of that, and I did not press for it. I remember that Clode was somewhat ashamed of his clemency.”