it could be called much else but murder," was Mr.
Jones's answer. "He went out with my lord's gamekeepers one night and
got shot in a poaching fray. 'Twas never known for certain who fired the
shot, but I think I could put my finger on the man if I tried. Much good
_that_ would do, though! There's no proof."

"What are you saying, Jones?" cried the station-master, staring at his
subordinate, and perhaps wondering whether he had already that morning
paid a visit to the tap of the Elster Arms.

"I'm saying nothing that half the place didn't say at the time, Mr.
Markham. _You_ hadn't come here then, Mr. Elster--he was the Honourable
George--went out one night with the keepers when warm work was expected,
and got shot for his pains. He lived some weeks, but they couldn't cure
him. It was in the late lord's time. _He_ died soon after, and the place
has been deserted ever since."

"And who do you suppose fired the shot?"

"Don't know that it 'ud be safe to say," rejoined the man. "He might give
my neck a twist some dark night if he heard on't. He's the blackest sheep
we've got in Calne, sir."

"I suppose you mean Pike," said the station-master. "He has the character
for being that, I believe. I've seen no harm in the man myself."

"Well, it was Pike," said the porter. "That is, some of us suspected him.
And that's how Mr. George Elster came by his death. And this one, Mr.
Percival, shot up into notice, as being the only one left, except Lord
Elster."

"And who's Lord Elster?" asked the station-master, not remembering to
have heard the title before.

Mr. Jones received the question with proper contempt. Having been
familiar with Hartledon and its inmates all his life, he had as little
compassion for those who were not so, as he would have had for a man who
did not understand that Garchester was in England.

"The present Earl of Hartledon," said he, shortly. "In his father's
lifetime--and the old lord lived to see Mr. George buried--he was Lord
Elster. Not one of my tribe of brats but could tell that any Lord Elster
must be the eldest son of the Earl of Hartledon," he concluded with a
fling at his superior.

"Ah, well, I have had other things to do since I came here besides
inquiring into titles and folks that don't concern me," remarked the
station-master. "What a good-looking man he is!"

The praise applied to Mr. Elster, after whom he was throwing a parting
look. Jones gave an ungracious assent, and turned into