The house itself was of no great pretensions, or age, dating only from the second George--a square, red-brick mansion, only redeemed from actual ugliness by the mellow beauty of its hues. The grounds themselves were better, and the trees best of all. An avenue curved nobly to the gate, which gave on the highroad, and to the right of this, fronting the house, was a delightful garden, laid out in the Dutch fashion. There were yew trees cut into quaint shapes, stiff and formal hedges running in straight lines, and beds of old-fashioned flowers. A fountain, a summer house, and a statue or two completed the furniture of this pleasant ground, to which Tait introduced his friend with unconcealed pride. "I paid for this," he said, looking round as they paced the broad walks. "By itself the house is a monstrosity, only rendered endurable by its years; but you must confess that the garden is worth the money." "It is certainly quaint," replied Larcher, looking around with an absent air, "but I do not care for nature in buckram. The formality of this place offends my eye." "Ah, my dear fellow, you have been used to the wildness of New Zealand woods of late. You will find these grounds grow on you. I shall leave you alone this afternoon to make the attempt." "Indeed," said Larcher, in some surprise at this cavalier treatment, "and what do you intend to do?" "I am going to church." "To church--on a week-day?" "Oh, I am not bent on devotion, Claude. But Miss Paynton is the organist of the parish. To-day is Wednesday, when she is accustomed to practice between three and five. I propose to see her there." "Why?" "Can't you guess? To forestall her with Hilliston. That gentleman is at Eastbourne, and will probably come over to-day or to-morrow to ask Jenny to hold her tongue. As we can't afford to run such a risk, I must get all I can out of her to-day." "Can I come also?" "No!" replied Tait promptly. "It would be necessary for me to introduce you." "What of that? Does it matter?" "It matters a great deal. Miss Paynton has, we believe, obtained the plot of Linton's novel from a report of the trial. She will know the name of Larcher, and when she hears that you are called so, she will probably take fright and hold her tongue." "But why should she think I have anything to do with the case?" "Your own name. Your guardian's," answered Tait quietly. "Both are mentioned in the report of the trial. Oh, I assure you, Jenny is a clever girl, and knows that two and two make four. She will put this and that together, with the result that nothing will be gained by the interview." "Well, well, go alone," said Claude crossly; "though I envy you the chance. She is a pretty girl, from the glimpse I caught of her." "And as wise as she is pretty," laughed Tait. "I will need all my wits to deal with her. Now, is it settled?" "Yes. You go to your organist, and I'll potter about these green alleys and think myself an abbe of Louis XIV.'s time."