excuse me. I would not have let you take
the trouble of coming up, had not I thought that you were the bearer
of some news." Then she bowed, and Mr. Maule bowed; and as he left
the room she forgot to ring the bell.

"What the deuce can she have meant about that fellow Finn?" he said
to himself. "They cannot both have been murdered." He went to his
club, and there he soon learned the truth. The information was given
to him with clear and undoubting words. Phineas Finn and Mr. Bonteen
had quarrelled at The Universe. Mr. Bonteen, as far as words went,
had got the best of his adversary. This had taken place in the
presence of the Prince, who had expressed himself as greatly annoyed
by Mr. Finn's conduct. And afterwards Phineas Finn had waylaid Mr.
Bonteen in the passage between Bolton Row and Berkeley Street, and
had there--murdered him. As it happened, no one who had been at The
Universe was at that moment present; but the whole affair was now
quite well known, and was spoken of without a doubt.

"I hope he'll be hung, with all my heart," said Mr. Maule, who
thought that he could read the riddle which had been so
unintelligible in Park Lane.

When Madame Goesler reached Carlton Terrace, which she did before the
time named by the Duchess, her friend had not yet returned. But she
went upstairs, as she had been desired, and they brought her tea. But
the teapot remained untouched till past six o'clock, and then the
Duchess returned. "Oh, my dear, I am so sorry for being late. Why
haven't you had tea?"

"What is the truth of it all?" said Madame Goesler, standing up with
her fists clenched as they hung by her side.

"I don't seem to know nearly as much as I did when I wrote to you."

"Has the man been--murdered?"

"Oh dear, yes. There's no doubt about that. I was quite sure of that
when I sent the letter. I have had such a hunt. But at last I went up
to the door of the House of Commons, and got Barrington Erle to come
out to me."

"Well?"

"Two men have been arrested."

"Not Phineas Finn?"

"Yes; Mr. Finn is one of them. Is it not awful? So much more dreadful
to me than the other poor man's death! One oughtn't to say so, of
course."

"And who is the other man? Of course he did it."

"That horrid Jew preaching man that married Lizzie Eustace. Mr.
Bonteen had been persecuting him, and making out that he had another
wife at home in Hungary, or Bohemia, or somewhere."

"Of course he did it."

"That's what I sa