"I don't want to be loved in that selfish way. It's just like mother: she wants all one's affection, and nags the whole time, saying it is for my good. I've had quite enough of that in mother, without taking it on in a wife. I want a woman who will cheer me up, and look upon me as something to be looked up to. But I'll punish her," said Jerry wrathfully. "She expects me to run after her. I won't; I'll stay here and talk to you." "I'm busy," said Beatrice, taking a step or two away. "I have to go to The Camp to see Durban." "You needn't. He's at Convent Grange looking for you." "Oh! Then I'll go to him at once." "Better wait to hear what I have to say," urged Jerry; "it's about the murder of Mr. Alpenny." Beatrice stopped short, wondering what she was about to hear. "Have you discovered anything?" she asked breathlessly. "I can't say if what I have discovered is of any use," explained Mr. Snow, "but it might put the police on the track of the assassins." "What have you found out?" "Well, I was down Whitechapel the other night," said Jerry, "making an inquiry into some robbery that has taken place. There was a detective with me, and we saw all manner of queer things; also, we heard all manner of queer talk. In one way and another we picked up information about the Black Patch Gang." "The Black Patch Gang!" echoed Beatrice. "Yes!--yes?" "It's a gang of rogues, thieves, and vagabonds," went on Mr. Snow. "The police have never been able to lay hands on the head of the gang, or break it up. This gang goes about committing burglaries, and stealing things, and picking pockets. They must have a kind of academy like Fagin's," mused Jerry, "and they know one another by a black patch worn over the left eye." "Just like the man I saw?" "Yes. I thought of that when I heard the story," said Jerry, "and the detective thought the same. He is going to hunt out this gang and learn the whereabouts of their headquarters. And, Beatrice"--he moved forward to place a cautious hand on her arm--"it struck me--I don't know if it struck the detective, but it struck me, that Alpenny, who was a precious scoundrel--I beg your pardon----" "Go on," she said impatiently. "I know he was my stepfather, but I always thought him a wicked man myself." "I believe he was a fence," said Jerry solemnly. "What is that?" "The chap who disposes of stolen goods. Yes; I really believe that was why Alpenny lived in the country. The Black Patch Gang brought their stolen goods down here, and he got rid of them in some way. I expect the police will come down and make a thorough search throughout The Camp. There may be all manner of secret hiding-places." "But, Jerry," protested Beatrice, who was very pale, as various thoughts rushed through her mind, "I never saw any London thieves in The Camp, or, indeed, any one disreputable." "Did you ever see any client?" asked Jerry impressively. "No. Mr. Alpenny kept his business very quiet."