o
himself in none too encouraging a way.

Evidently he was in no mood for visitors.

"I'll be down in a minute," he called out, as their steps sounded on the
hardwood floor.

Hexford sauntered over to the stalls. Sweetwater stopped near the doorway
and glanced very carefully about him. Nothing seemed to escape his eye.
He even took the trouble to peer into a waste-bin, and was just on the
point of lifting down a bit of broken bottle from an open cupboard when
Brown appeared on the staircase, dressed in his Sunday coat and carrying
a bunch of fresh, hot-house roses.

He stopped midway as Sweetwater turned towards him from the cupboard, but
immediately resumed his descent and was ready with his reply when Hexford
accosted him from the other end of the stable:

"An odd beast, this. They don't drive her for her beauty, that's
evident."

"She's fast and she's knowing," grumbled the coachman. "Reason enough for
overlooking her spots. Who's that man?" he grunted, with a drop of his
lantern jaws, and a slight gesture towards the unknown interloper.

"Another of us," replied Hexford, with a shrug. "We're both rather
interested in this horse."

"Wouldn't another time do?" pleaded the coachman, looking gravely down at
the flowers he held. "It's most time for the funeral and I don't feel
like talking, indeed I don't, gentlemen."

"We won't keep you." It was Sweetwater who spoke. "The mare's
company enough for us. She knows a lot, this mare. I can see it in
her eye. I understand horses; we'll have a little chat, she and I,
when you are gone."

Brown cast an uneasy glance at Hexford.

"He'd better not touch her," he cautioned. "He don't know the beast well
enough for that."

"He won't touch her," Hexford assured him. "She does look knowing, don't
she? Would like to tell us something, perhaps. Was out _that_ night, I've
heard you say. Curious! How did you know it?"

"I've said and said till I'm tired," Brown answered, with sudden heat.
"This is pestering a man at a very unfortunate time. Look! the people
are coming. I must go. My poor mistress! and poor Miss Carmel! I liked
'em, do ye understand? Liked 'em--and I do feel the trouble at the
house, I do."

His distress was so genuine that Hexford was inclined to let him go; but
Sweetwater with a cock of his keen eye put in his word and held the
coachman where he was.

"The old gal is telling me all about it," muttered this sly, adaptable
fellow. He had sidled up to