“Ah! who wouldn’t be an East India merchant to have such sack as that? Ah! d—nd fine stuff for a dusty day.” “Your name, sir?” the old merchant inquired impatiently. “My name! eh? Ah! just so,” he replied indifferently, and with much composure pouring out another glass of wine. “My name, sir, is Captain Jack, and yours is Mr. Redgill, I think; here’s health to you, old boy!” “And your business, here?” said the merchant, amazed at the coolness of his vulgar visitor. “My business! eh? Well, if you want to know, I’m one of the most active, zealous, and valiant officers the Crown can boast; and as to catching rogues, vagabonds, and cut-throats, there isn’t my equal in all the kingdom. I’ve only got one fault, and that is, I love the bottle.” “All this has nothing to do with me, sir!” said the old merchant, getting red in the face with anger. “Your business here, I demand again?” “Don’t get frothy, my old friend!” said Captain Jack, “I’m coming to that now.” “And what is it, pray?” “I’ll just tell you,” said Captain Jack, “but as we don’t want any intruders, I may as well lock the door.” He rose and did so, and put the key in his pocket. Phillip was now apprehensive of danger, and turned deadly pale. His father began to stutter out something, but could not speak plainly. “I have come here on a very important bit of business,” said Captain Jack, “and like an honest man, as I am, don’t want to hurt the tender feelings of any one.” “I don’t understand you,” said the old merchant. “Well, there has been _murder_ committed, that’s all,” said Captain Jack, with a low chuckle. “Murder!” gasped the old merchant, retreating a step or two in surprise and horror. “Murder!” echoed Phillip, with a well-feigned look of astonishment. “Yes, murder, gentlemen, that’s all.” “And what have _I_ to do with such a foul charge?” asked the merchant, indignantly. “_You_ haven’t; but—there—are—certain—parties—not—a—very—great—way—from—here—as—_have_,” said Captain Jack, very carelessly in the direction where Phillip sat. Young Redgill felt the blood run coldly to his heart as he heard these words. But he spoke not. “Some one in _this_ house?” asked the merchant, astonished. “Yes, in this very house, and no other. Not only murder, mind you, but robbery,” said Captain Jack, very coolly. “And a pretty good haul the chap made of it, so I hear. He bagged lots of gold coin. Do you know old Bertram, of Four Ash Farm?” “I do; he is my creditor to a large amount, and has to pay me heavy arrears on a mortgage I hold of him. I expect him in town every day.” “You may expect a long time, then, for he’s the chap which was robbed and murdered.” “Impossible!” said the old merchant, turning white. “What a horrid affair! And have they found out who did it?” “Not exactly,” said Captain Jack; “but—I—think—I—can—find—out—afore—long,” he answered, slowly and ominously. “I’m coming to that point now. Have you a travelling collector in your house of the name of Bolton?”