friend of the snaky
curls is in sole possession of the Grange. Miss Orrin has disappeared.
It must be a sweet spot! Hello, what's that?"

And through the window of the retail shop, now bright with the extra
lighting of Saturday night, we saw Mad Jeremy. He was bending over
several melodeons which Tom Hunt, our first shopman, had handed down to
him, picking up one with a knowing air, trying the keys and stops, his
ringlets falling about his ears, a cunning smile on his lips, and his
little, quick, suspicious eyes darting this way and that to see whether
or not he was observed.

At last his choice fell on a most gorgeous instrument, one that had
just come in. He asked the price, chaffed a a while for the form, and
then, drawing out a fat, well-filled pocket-book, slapped down in
payment a Clydesdale bank-note for a hundred pounds!

CHAPTER XXVIII

SATURDAY, THE TENTH OF FEBRUARY

This was on the evening of Saturday, the tenth of February, a day never
to be forgotten by me and by many more. I will try to place here in
order the events which happened both at Deep Moat Grange and at
Breckonside during the succeeding forty-eight hours. Of course, there
is some part that can only be guessed at, and part is known solely by
the maunderings of a criminal maniac. But still, I think, I have now
got the whole pretty straight--as straight as it will ever be known on
this side time. At any rate, it is my account or none. For no one
else can know what I know.

As Mr. Ablethorpe had informed me, he was at a standstill in his
researches. And the reason was that Mr. Hobby Stennis, the "Golden
Farmer," as he was called, had departed on one of his frequent journeys.

So much was true. The master of Deep Moat Grange had indeed been
absent for three days. But he had returned that same Saturday morning
about ten o'clock. He had been disgusted to find the house empty.
Probably, also, he was in a very bad temper owing to the failure of
some combination or other he had counted upon. He found nothing
prepared for his reception. Miss Orrin and her sisters were gone, and
Mad Jeremy in one of his maddest and most freakish humours.

Now, of all times for arriving from a journey the noon is the worst.
In the evening one dines. Later, one may have supper. Later still,
one sleeps. In the morning everybody is astonished, and says: "How
brisk and early you are to-day!" This pleases you, and you step about
the place and c