ime that Harry was acquainted with the captain, and also
contrived to extract from him the name of Miss Mountjoy. But he could
learn nothing else, beyond Harry's absolute unwillingness to talk upon
the subject, which was in itself much. It must be understood that Harry
was not specially reverential in these communications. Indeed, he gave
his uncle to understand that he regarded his questions as impertinent,
and at last declared his intention of not coming to the Hall any more
for the present. Then Mr. Prosper whispered to his sister that he was
quite sure that Harry Annesley knew more than he choose to say as to
Captain Scarborough's whereabouts.

"My dear Peter," said Mrs. Annesley, "I really think that you are doing
poor Harry an injustice."

Mrs. Annesley was always on her guard to maintain something like an
affectionate intercourse between her own family and the squire.

"My dear Anne, you do not see into a millstone as far as I do. You never
did."

"But, Peter, you really shouldn't say such things of Harry. When all the
police-officers themselves are looking about to catch up anything in
their way, they would catch him up at a moment's notice if they heard
that a magistrate of the county had expressed such an opinion."

"Why don't he tell me?" said Mr. Prosper.

"There's nothing to tell."

"Ah, that's your opinion--because you can't see into a millstone. I tell
you that Harry knows more about this Captain Scarborough than any one
else. They were very intimate together."

"Harry only just knew him."

"Well, you'll see. I tell you that Harry's name will become mixed up
with Captain Scarborough's, and I hope that it will be in no
discreditable manner. I hope so, that's all." Harry in the mean time
had returned to London, in order to escape his uncle, and to be on the
spot to learn anything that might come in his way as to the now
acknowledged mystery respecting the captain.

Such was the state of things at the commencement of the period to which
my story refers.

CHAPTER V.

AUGUSTUS SCARBOROUGH.

Harry Annesley, when he found himself in London, could not for a moment
shake off that feeling of nervous anxiety as to the fate of Mountjoy
Scarborough which had seized hold of him. In every newspaper which he
took in his hand he looked first for the paragraph respecting the fate
of the missing man, which the paper was sure to contain in one of its
columns. It was his habit during these few days to