or of holes that may be cellars some day. Come out of
it; it gives me the 'creeps.'"

"Ye believe it's all safe, eh?"

"Safe enough so far."

"Come by. If you like not this place, you must e'en bide the kitchen a
bit. I've somewhat to speak to you."

Cleena started back over the way they had come, and Mr. Kaye was
following her, when he stumbled against something soft, and fell
headlong in the mud; but he was up again in an instant, no worse for the
accident save by the soil upon his clothing. He had grasped the thing
over which he had tripped, and held it up to the candle-light.

"Hello! Seems to me I've seen this garment, or felt it, before. That
peculiarity of a cloth coat with a leather collar is noticeable. Whose
is it, Cleena?"

"Fetch it," she commanded tersely, and he obeyed her. Once in the better
lighted kitchen she extinguished the candle, carefully closed all the
doors, and seated herself near her visitor. She had taken the coat from
him, and laid it upon her own knees. Her manner was still full of that
mystery which consorted so oddly with her honest, open face.

"I thought so. I thought so, so I did."

"Very likely."

"Cease yer haverin', lad. There's matter here."

"Considerable. Upon my clothes, too. The matter seems to be of the same
sort--rather brown and sticky, what the farmers call 'loom.'"

"Know you whose coat this be?"

"Never a know I know," he mimicked, enjoying his bit of nonsense with
this old friend of his youth.

"It's Fayetty's."

"Your superior cellar digger? Whew!"

He had now become quite as serious as she desired. "Cleena, this is a
bad business. This coat was on the back of the man who horsewhipped Mr.
Wingate."

"I thought it; but, mind you, me lad, he's not for punishin'."

"Hold on, he certainly _is_. Don't you know that I--I, a Kaye, am under
suspicion of this dastardly thing? Of course you do. Well, then, I'm
going to step out from under the suspicion with neatness and despatch.
How long have you been hiding this, Cleena?"

"The poor chap's been here ever since. Only once a day he slips out, but
he's back by night. Oh, he's safe enough the now."

"Glad of it. Like to have him handy; and as soon as you've finished what
you have to say, I'll walk into the village and inform the sheriff, or
somebody who should know."

"You'll do naught like it."

"Why, Cleena, woman, have you lost your good sense?"

"Have I saved it, no? Hear me. I know 'twas me poor li