“A way of getting out of it!” muttered Philip to himself, as he watched the retreating figure of his servant. “There seems but small chance of that. Robbery was bad enough; but this is another matter. She’s dead, and cannot speak; even if she were alive, she must point to me as Dandy Chater. And I cannot speak, because the real Dandy Chater is gone, and I stand here in his clothes, and with his very papers in my pockets. Philip, my boy—keep a cool head—for this business means death!” Some morbid attraction, no less than the necessity for doing something with the body, urged him to see it. But, here again, the bitterness and the strangeness of his position came strongly upon him; for, though he stood in deadly peril of being charged with the murder of this girl, he was actually ignorant of the spot where her body lay. He shuddered at the thought that he might stumble upon it, at any step he took. Still casting about in his mind for the best method of finding the place, he went back to the Hall; and resolved to fortify himself with dinner, before doing anything. “I suppose, if I really had murder on my soul, I should have no appetite—unless I were a hardened villain indeed. Being innocent, I’ll make the best of things, until they come to the worst.” With this wise resolution, he dined well, and drank an excellent bottle of wine. The world beginning to look a little better, in direct consequence, he lit a cigar, and put the matter philosophically before himself. “Men have been hung, I know, on slighter evidence than that which connects me with the dead girl. Yet, after all”—he derived very considerable satisfaction from the remembrance of this point—“I am not Dandy Chater—and never was. If I can only as readily persuade people that I am _not_ my twin brother, as I have persuaded them that I _am_—I’ve nothing to fear. That’s the point. However, I must know what the danger of discovery is, and exactly where I stand, before I do anything else. Then—if there is nothing for it but flight, the question will be: can I as readily drop my mask as I have assumed it? Frankly, I’m afraid I can’t.” Knowing the impossibility of doing anything alone, by reason of his ignorance of the neighbourhood, he rang the bell, and requested that Harry might be sent to him. In a few moments, the servant who had answered the summons returned, and, standing just within the door, announced that Harry was not to be found. “What do you mean?” asked Philip. “Look about for him, man; he must be somewhere about the place.” “Begging your pardon, sir,” replied the man—“’e ’as been seen leavin’ the grounds a little while since.” “Very well; it doesn’t matter,” said Philip, carelessly. “Send him to me when he returns.”