ut the pocket-book and pencil, and obstinately insisted on
taking notes of everything that I said to him. Look where we might, we
found, as Mr. Blake had foretold that the work was advancing as rapidly
and as intelligently as it was possible to desire. But there was still
much to be done in the inner hall, and in Miss Verinder's room. It
seemed doubtful whether the house would be ready for us before the end
of the week.

Having congratulated Betteredge on the progress that he had made (he
persisted in taking notes every time I opened my lips; declining, at
the same time, to pay the slightest attention to anything said by Mr.
Blake); and having promised to return for a second visit of inspection
in a day or two, we prepared to leave the house, going out by the back
way. Before we were clear of the passages downstairs, I was stopped by
Betteredge, just as I was passing the door which led into his own room.

"Could I say two words to you in private?" he asked, in a mysterious
whisper.

I consented of course. Mr. Blake walked on to wait for me in the garden,
while I accompanied Betteredge into his room. I fully anticipated a
demand for certain new concessions, following the precedent already
established in the cases of the stuffed buzzard, and the Cupid's wing.
To my great surprise, Betteredge laid his hand confidentially on my arm,
and put this extraordinary question to me:

"Mr. Jennings, do you happen to be acquainted with ROBINSON CRUSOE?"

I answered that I had read ROBINSON CRUSOE when I was a child.

"Not since then?" inquired Betteredge.

"Not since then."

He fell back a few steps, and looked at me with an expression of
compassionate curiosity, tempered by superstitious awe.

"He has not read ROBINSON CRUSOE since he was a child," said Betteredge,
speaking to himself--not to me. "Let's try how ROBINSON CRUSOE strikes
him now!"

He unlocked a cupboard in a corner, and produced a dirty and dog's-eared
book, which exhaled a strong odour of stale tobacco as he turned over
the leaves. Having found a passage of which he was apparently in
search, he requested me to join him in the corner; still mysteriously
confidential, and still speaking under his breath.

"In respect to this hocus-pocus of yours, sir, with the laudanum and Mr.
Franklin Blake," he began. "While the workpeople are in the house, my
duty as a servant gets the better of my feelings as a man. When the
workpeople are gone, my feelings as a man ge