ng it almost broke his heart. Then they
searched among his linen, clean and dirty, and asked questions of
Mrs. Bunce in audible whispers behind the door. Whatever Mrs. Bunce
could do to injure the cause of her favourite lodger by severity
of manner, snubbing the policeman, and determination to give no
information, she did do. "Had a shirt washed? How do you suppose a
gentleman's shirts are washed? You were brought up near enough to
a washtub yourself to know more than I can tell you!" But the very
respectable constable did not seem to be in the least annoyed by the
landlady's amenities.

He was taken to Bow Street, going thither in a cab with the two
policemen, and the superintendent followed them with Lord Chiltern
and Mr. Low. "You don't mean to say that you believe it?" said Lord
Chiltern to the officer. "We never believe and we never disbelieve
anything, my Lord," replied the man. Nevertheless, the superintendent
did most firmly believe that Phineas Finn had murdered Mr. Bonteen.

At the police-office Phineas was met by Lord Cantrip and Barrington
Erle, and soon became aware that both Lord Fawn and Fitzgibbon were
present. It seemed that everything else was made to give way to this
inquiry, as he was at once confronted by the magistrate. Everybody
was personally very civil to him, and he was asked whether he would
not wish to have professional advice while the charge was being made
against him. But this he declined. He would tell the magistrate,
he said, all he knew, but, at any rate for the present, he would
have no need of advice. He was, at last, allowed to tell his own
story,--after repeated cautions. There had been some words between
him and Mr. Bonteen in the club; after which, standing at the door of
the club with his friends, Mr. Erle and Mr. Fitzgibbon, who were now
in court, he had seen Mr. Bonteen walk away towards Berkeley Square.
He had soon followed, but had never overtaken Mr. Bonteen. When
reaching the Square he had crossed over to the fountain standing
there on the south side, and from thence had taken the shortest way
up Bruton Street. He had seen Mr. Bonteen for the last time dimly,
by the gaslight, at the corner of the Square. As far as he could
remember, he himself had at the moment passed the fountain. He had
not heard the sound of any struggle, or of words, round the corner
towards Piccadilly. By the time that Mr. Bonteen would have reached
the head of the steps leading into the passage, he