ness the mare.

Then it was that, relieved of the weight of abstract questions, he made
two grave discoveries. The first was that the horse bore marks of having
been driven in his absence; the next, that the harness was not hanging
precisely on those hooks where he had last placed it. And when he drew
out the trap he saw that the tires of the wheels were still crusted with
unmelted snow.

These concrete issues finally banished the discussion of general
principles. Natt had not entirely accounted for the strange
circumstances when he jumped into his seat and drove away. But the old
idea of Paul's dubious conduct was still fermenting; the froth and
bubbles were still rising.

Natt had not gone half-way to the station when he almost leaped out of
the trap at the sudden advent of an original thought: The trap had been
driven out before! He had not covered a mile more before that thought
had annexed another: And along this road, too! After this the sequence
of ideas was swift. In less than half a league, Natt had realized that
Paul Ritson himself had driven the mare to the station in order that he
might be there to come home at eight o'clock, and thus complete the
deception which he had practiced on gullible and slow-witted persons.
But in his satisfaction at this explanation Natt overlooked the trifling
difficulty of how the trap had been got home again.

Driving up into the station, he was greeted by a flyman waiting for
hire.

"Bad on the laal mare, ma man--two sec journeys in ya half day. I reckon
tha knows it's been here afore?"

Natt's face broadened into a superior smile, which seemed to desire his
gratuitous informant to tell him something he didn't know. This unspoken
request was about to be gratified.

"Dusta ken who came down last?"

Natt waved his hand in silent censure of so much unnecessary zeal, and
passed on.

Promptly as the clock struck eight, the London train drew up at the
station, and a minute afterward Paul Ritson came out. "Here he be, of
course," thought Natt.

Paul was in great spirits. His face wore the brightest smile, and his
voice had the cheeriest ring. His clothes, seen by the lamp, looked a
little draggled and dirty.

He swung himself into the trap, took the driver's seat and the reins and
rattled along with cheerful talk.

It was months since Natt had witnessed such an access of geniality on
Paul's part.

"Too good to be true," thought Natt, who, in his own wise way, was
si