yes' superior knowledge of his master's movements.
The evidence concerning the bank-notes proves this. We know, by the
examination of the people at the Dairy, that Wall-Eyes took from his
pocket a handful of notes, when they refused to send for liquor without
having the money first. We are also informed, that the breaking-out of
the drink-madness in Mother Sowler showed itself in her snatching the
notes out of his hand, and trying to strangle him--before she ran down
into the kitchen and bolted herself in. Lastly, Mrs. Farnaby's bankers
have identified the note saved from the burning, as one of forty
five-pound notes paid to her cheque. So much for the tracing of the
money.

"I wish I could give an equally satisfactory account of the tracing of
the crime. We can make nothing of Wall-Eyes. He declares that he didn't
even know Jervy was dead, till we told him; and he swears he found
the money dropped in the street. It is needless to say that this last
assertion is a lie. Opinions are divided among us as to whether he is
answerable for the murder as well as the robbery, or whether there was a
third person concerned in it. My own belief is that Jervy was drugged by
the old woman (with a young woman very likely used as a decoy), in some
house by the riverside, and then murdered by Wall-Eyes in cold blood.
We have done our best to clear the matter up, and we have not succeeded.
The doctors give us no hope of any assistance from Mother Sowler. If
she gets over the attack (which is doubtful), they say she will die to
a certainty of liver disease. In short, my own fear is that this will
prove to be one more of those murders which are mysteries to the police
as well as the public."

The report of the case excited some interest, published in the
newspapers in conspicuous type. Meddlesome readers wrote letters,
offering complacently stupid suggestions to the police. After a while,
another crime attracted general attention; and the murder of Jervy
disappeared from the public memory, among other forgotten murders of
modern times.

CHAPTER 5

The last dreary days of November came to their end.

No longer darkened by the shadows of crime and torment and death, the
life of Amelius glided insensibly into the peaceful byways of seclusion,
brightened by the companionship of Sally. The winter days followed one
another in a happy uniformity of occupations and amusements. There were
lessons to fill up the morning, and walks to occup