of identity and
occupation; but most industrious endeavors to find a certain Mr Beveridge
were made in the course of the next few days. He and Welsh were living
modestly and obscurely in the neighbourhood of the Pentonville Road,
scouring the town by day, studying a map and laying the most ingenious
plans at night. Welsh's first effort, as soon as they were established in
their new quarters, was to induce his friend to go down to Clankwood and
make further inquiries, but this Twiddel absolutely declined to do.

"My dear chap," he answered, "supposing anything were found out, or even
suspected, what am I to say? Old Congleton knows me well, and for his own
sake doesn't want to make a fuss; but if he really spots that something is
wrong, he will be so afraid of his reputation that he'd give me away like
a shot."

"How are you going to give things away by going down and seeing him?"

"_If_ they have guessed anything, I'll give it away. I haven't your cheek,
you know, and tact, and that sort of thing; you'd much better go
yourself."

"_I?_ It isn't my business."

"You seem to be making it yours. Besides, Dr Congleton thinks it is. You
passed yourself off as the chap's cousin, and it is quite natural for you
to go and inquire."

Welsh pondered the point. "Hang it," he said at last, "it would do just as
well to write. Perhaps it's safer after all."

"Well, you write."

"Why should I, rather than you?"

"Because you're his cousin."

Welsh considered again. "Well, I don't suppose it matters much. I'll
write, if you're afraid."

It was these amiable little touches in his friend's conversation that
helped to make Twiddel's lot at this time so pleasant. In fact, the doctor
was learning a good deal about human nature in cloudy weather.

With great care Welsh composed a polite note of anxious inquiry, and by
return of post received the following reply:--

"MY DEAR SIR,--I regret to inform you that we have not so far recovered
your cousin Mr Beveridge. In all probability, however, this cannot be long
delayed now, as he was seen within the last week at a country house in
Dampshire, and is known to have fled to London immediately on his
recognition, but before he could be secured. He was then clean shaved, and
had been passing under the name of Francis Bunker. We are making strict
inquiries for him in London.

"Nobody can regret the unfortunate circumstance of his escape more than I,
and, in justice to myself and my