derstand that he felt deeply aggrieved, and that
we should all feel aggrieved under similar circumstances. Priority is a
title, all the world over; and he had been the lady's lover first, had
been encouraged, and supplanted.

Longing to wound, but not knowing how to strike, he wandered about the
town, and went into several factories, and talked to some of the men,
and contrived to bring the conversation round to Little, and learn what
he was doing. But he gathered no information of any use to him. Then
he went to Grotait's place, and tried to pump him. That sagacious
man thought this odd, and immediately coupled this with his previous
denunciation of Little, and drew him on.

Coventry was too much under the influence of passion to be quite master
of himself that day; and he betrayed to this other Machiavel that he
wished ill to Henry Little. As soon as he had thoroughly ascertained
this, Grotrait turned coolly on him, and said, "I am sorry Mr. Little
has got enemies; for he and his partner talk of building a new factory,
and that will be a good thing for us: take a score of saw-grinders
off the box." Then Coventry saw he had made a mistake, and left "The
Cutlers' Arms" abruptly.

Next day he took a lodging in the town, and went about groping for
information, and hunting for a man whose face he knew, but not his name.
He learned all about Bolt and Little's vain endeavor to build, and went
and saw the place, and the condemned bricks. The sight gratified him.
He visited every saw-grinder's place he could hear of; and, at last, he
fell in with Sam Cole, and recognized him at once. That worthy affected
not to know him, and went on grinding a big saw. Coventry stepped up
to him, and said in his ear, "I want to speak with you. Make an
appointment."

Cole looked rather sulky and reluctant at being drawn from his
obscurity. However, he named a low public-house in a back slum, and
there these two met that night, and for greater privacy were soon seated
in a place bigger than a box and smaller than a room with discolored
walls, and a rough wooden table before them splashed with beer. It
looked the very den to hatch villainy in, and drink poison to its
success.

Coventry, pale and red alternately, as fear and shame predominated,
began to beat about the bush.

"You and I have reason to hate the same man. You know who I mean."

"I can guess. Begins with a Hel."

"He has wronged me deeply; and he hurt you."

"That is true,