The man looked puzzled as well as relieved, but, stealing a doubtful glance at the curate’s dark fate, he found his eyes still upon him, and cowered afresh. “Yes, take care,” said Clode, smiling unpleasantly as he saw the effect his look produced. “Do not try to evade me or it will be the worse for you, Felton. And now go! But see you take nothing from here.” The detected one cast a sly glance at the half-rifled box which still lay on the carpet at his feet, a few gold coins scattered round it; then he looked up again. “It is all there, sir,” he said, cringing. “I had but just begun.” “Then go!” said the curate, pointing with emphasis to the door. “Go, I tell you!” The man’s presence annoyed and humiliated him so that he felt a positive relief when the valet’s back was turned. Left alone he stood listening, a cloud on his brow, until the faint sound of the outer door being pulled to reached his ear, and then, stooping hastily, he gathered up the sovereigns and half-sovereigns, which lay where they had fallen, and put them into the box. This done, he rose and laid the box itself upon the table by his side. And again he stood still, listening, a dark shade on his face. Long ago, almost at the moment of his entrance, he had seen the pale shimmer of papers at the back of the little cupboard. Now, still listening stealthily, he thrust in his hand and drew out one of the bundles and opened it. The papers were parish accounts in his own handwriting! With a gesture of fierce impatience he thrust them back and drew out others, and, disappointed again in these, exchanged them hastily for a third set. In vain! The last were as worthless to him as the first. He was turning away baffled and defeated, when he saw lying at the back of the lower compartment of the cupboard, whence the cash-box had come, two or three smaller packets, consisting apparently of letters. The curate reached hastily for one of these, and the discovery that it contained some of Lindo’s private accounts, dated before his appointment, made his face flush and his fingers tremble with eagerness. He glanced nervously round the room and stopped to listen; then, moving the candle a little nearer, he ran his eye over the papers. But here, too, though the scent was hot, he took nothing, and he exchanged the packet for one of the others. Looking at this, he saw that it was indorsed in Lindo’s handwriting, “Letters relating to the Claversham Living.”