orthy friend was bringing disgrace upon the causes of poetry and
pedestrianism. When her laughter subsided, Miss Halbert said: "There is
one thing I want to ask you seriously, Mr. Coristine." "Name it," he
answered, "even to the half of my fortune." "It is to look after papa,
and see that he does not expose himself too much to danger. I asked Mr.
Perrowne too, but he is with the horsemen, you know." This last was said
with a peculiarly arch smile, which convinced the lawyer that Perrowne
was in deeper than was generally suspected. The first thought that
followed in Coristine's mind was what awful cheek he had been guilty of
in following Perrowne's precedent in drop the handkerchief. He managed,
however, to assure the lady that he would do his best to watch over the
safety of her father and Squire Carruthers, the latter words being
spoken loud enough for Miss Carmichael to hear. When the post-office was
reached Mr. Bangs dismounted, was ready to receive the ladies; and the
three escorts, shaking hands warmly with each of their fair companions,
entered the remaining waggon and drove away, the buts of their firearms
rattling on the floor, and the suspended bludgeons playfully flogging
their shoulders.

It was ghastly work propping up the dead murderer's shoulders in the
shell, and placing a rest for his head. The jaw had been tied up, but
the eyes would not close; yet, staring though the face was, it was not a
repulsive one. The ordinary observer could not read what Bangs saw
there, greed and hypocrisy, envy, treachery, murder. While Miss Du
Plessis went on calmly sketching, the other girls turned their heads
away. No one cared to break the stillness by a word. The detective went
out and secured the services of Styles to accompany the ladies home, and
remain at Bridesdale till the armed band returned. Then he went over to
the shell in which the body of his brother detective lay, and, nobody
looking at him, allowed himself the luxury of a few tears, a silent
tribute to the man he honoured. When the sketch was completed, he warmly
thanked the artist, and told her that he never would have dreamt of
proposing such a task, but for his desire to do justice to his dead
friend, whom an informer named Flower had greatly injured in the
department. The department had faith in his cleverness all along, but
suspicions had been cast upon his honesty, which embittered his days,
along with troubles that were then only known to himself.