“I shall sleep here for a night—possibly two or three,” replied Tokely, in a loud voice, and with a side glance to note the effect of what he said upon the mere hinds before-mentioned. “I am here upon—upon business.” “Indeed, sir,” said Mrs. Siggs, briskly. “It ain’t many commercial gents we gets down to Bamberton, sir—’cept by accident. Would you wish to ’ave a meal prepared, sir? P’raps you’d be so good as step this way, sir.” “I should like something to eat, certainly,” replied the Inspector. “And I am not here on commercial business; quite the contrary. My business is connected with the—the Law.” “Lor’!” exclaimed Mrs. Siggs, as she led the way into the little parlour; this exclamation not being intended as an echo of the Inspector’s last word, by any means. “I ’ope we shall be able to make you comfortable, sir, w’atever your business may be. This way, sir. P’raps you might like to take a little summink afore your meal, sir?” Inspector Tokely gave the order for the “little summink,” as well as for the meal, and then turned to Mrs. Siggs as she was leaving the room. “One moment, my good woman,” he said. Mrs. Siggs hesitated, with her hand on the doorknob, and looked at him curiously—not at all prepossessed in his favour. The Inspector, leaning against the table, and putting his head a little on one side, conveyed into his hard features something as nearly approaching a smile as he was capable of. “You don’t know me, I suppose?” he said. Mrs. Siggs shook her head slowly, after looking him up and down for a few moments in some perplexity. “I see you don’t,” said Tokely, grimly. “Do you remember a lad—a lad of superior intelligence, I might say—who used to be a sort of under-keeper up at the Hall—by name Tokely?” The Inspector smiled a little more. Mrs. Siggs, after a moment or two of frowning contemplation of the floor, looked up at him with a brightening face. “To be sure I do,” she said. “When I was a gel about ’ere—remember ’im well, I do. Let me see now”—Betty Siggs, immersed in recollections of the past, lost sight of her visitor for a moment completely—“chuckle-headed chap ’e was—with a taste for spyin’ out things wot didn’t concern ’im——” “He was nothing of the sort,” broke in Tokely, very red in the face. “He was a lad considerably above the average of rustic intelligence—and he made his way in the world, Ma’am, I should like you to know—got his name in the papers, more than once——” “Ah—lots o’ folks manages to do that, without meanin’ it,” said Betty Siggs, with a little laugh. “I’ve knowed a man to do it by breakin’ a winder.” “Never mind about that,” said the Inspector, testily. “The young man I’m talking about got on in the world, by sheer merit. _I_ am that young man, Ma’am”—the Inspector tapped himself dramatically on the breast—“now Inspector Tokely, of Scotland Yard!” Betty Siggs went a little white about the region of her plump cheeks; clasped her hands; and faltered out—“Of—of Scotland Yard.”