e man arrived here this morning by the slow six train from
London. He went into the Stag and had his breakfast, and has been
covertly dodging about ever since. He inquired his way to Hartledon. The
landlord of the Stag asked him what he wanted there, and got for answer
that his brother was one of the grooms in my lord's service. Bosh! He
went up, sneaking under the hedges and along by-ways, and took a view of
the house, standing a good hour behind a tree while he did it. I was
watching him."

It instantly struck Percival Elster, by one of those flashes of
conviction that are no less sure than subtle, that Mr. Pike's interest in
this watching arose from a fear that the stranger might have been looking
after _him_. Pike continued:

"After he had taken his fill of waiting, he came dodging down this way,
and I got into conversation with him. He wanted to know who I was. A poor
devil out of work, I told him; a soldier once, but maimed and good for
little now. We got chatty. I let him think he might trust me, and he
began asking no end of questions about Mr. Elster: whether he went out
much, what were his hours for going out, which road he mostly took in his
walks, and how he could know him from his brother the earl; he had heard
they were alike. The hound was puzzled; he had seen a dozen swells come
out of Hartledon, any one of which might be Mr. Elster; but I found he
had the description pretty accurate. Whilst we were talking, who should
come into view but yourself! 'This is him!' cried he. 'Not a bit of it,'
said I, carelessly; 'that's my lord.' Now you know, sir, why I saluted
you as Lord Hartledon."

"Where is he now?" asked Percival Elster, feeling that he owed his
present state of liberty to this lawless man.

Pike pointed to the narrow path in the wood, leading to the high-road.
"I filled him up with the belief that the way beyond this bridge up to
Hartledon was private, and he might be taken up for trespassing if he
attempted to follow it; so he went off that way to watch the front. If
the fellow hasn't a writ in his pocket, or something worse, call me a
simpleton. You are all right, sir, as long as he takes you for Lord
Hartledon."

But there was little chance the fellow could long take him for Lord
Hartledon, and Percival Elster felt himself attacked with a shiver. He
knew it to be worse than a writ; it was an arrest. An arrest is not a
pleasant affair for any one; but a strong opinion--a certainty--seized
u