en by a considerable commotion in Randolph's
room just overhead, caused by his preparation for "a journey to
London." But the usual angry remonstrance is not forthcoming from the
master. And do you not see how all this more than acquiescence of Lord
Pharanx in the conduct of his son deprives that conduct of half its
significance, its intrinsic suspiciousness?

'A hasty reasoner then would inevitably jump to the conclusion that
Randolph was guilty of something--some evil intention--though of
precisely what he would remain in doubt. But a more careful reasoner
would pause: he would reflect that _as_ the father was implicated in
those acts, and _as_ he was innocent of any such intention, so might
possibly, even probably, be the son. This, I take it, has been the view
of the officials, whose logic is probably far in advance of their
imagination. But supposing we can adduce one act, undoubtedly actuated
by evil intention on the part of Randolph--one act in which his father
certainly did _not_ participate--what follows next? Why, that we revert
at once to the view of the hasty reasoner, and conclude that _all_ the
other acts in the same relation were actuated by the same evil motive;
and having reached that point, we shall be unable longer to resist the
conclusion that those of them in which his father had a share _might_
have sprung from a like motive in _his_ mind also; nor should the mere
obvious impossibility of such a condition of things have even the very
least influence on us, as thinkers, in causing us to close our mind
against its logical possibility. I therefore make the inference, and
pass on.

'Let us then see if we can by searching find out any absolutely certain
deviation from right on the part of Randolph, in which we may be quite
sure that his father was not an abettor. At eight on the night of the
murder it is dark; there has been some snow, but the fall has
ceased--how long before I know not, but so long that the interval
becomes sufficiently appreciable to cause remark. Now the party going
round the house come on two tracks of feet meeting at an angle. Of one
track we are merely told that it was made by the small foot of a woman,
and of it we know no more; of the other we learn that the feet were big
and the boots clumsy, and, it is added, the marks were _half
obliterated by the snow_. Two things then are clear: that the persons
who made them came from different directions, and probably made them at
diffe