Holmes continued to talk over the event
and all the details, but she did not hear what he said. She had but
senses for the lines she was perusing.

"I thought at first it was O'Shea in some disguise. But it cannot be;
for see, they remark here that this man has been observed loitering
about Baden ever since Paten arrived. Oh, here's the mystery," cried
she. "His name is Collier."

"That was an old debt between them," said Holmes.

"I hope there will be no discovery as to Paten's real name. It would so
certainly revive the old scandal."

"We can scarcely expect such good luck as that, Loo. There is but one
thing to do, dear; we must put the sea between us and our calumniators."

"How did O'Shea come by the letters if he had no hand in it?"

"Perhaps he had; perhaps it was a concerted thing; perhaps he bought up
the letters from Collier afterwards. Is it of the least consequence to
us how he got them?"

"Yes, Collier might have read them," said she, in a hollow voice; and
as Holmes, startled by the tones, turned round, he saw that she had a
sickening faintness over her, and that she trembled violently.

"Where's your old courage, Loo?" said he, cheeringly. "Paten is gone,
Collier has a good chance of being sent after him, and here we are,
almost the only actors left of the whole drama."

"That's true, papa, very true; and as we shall have to play in the
afterpiece, the sooner we get the tragedy out of our heads the better."

They remounted the carriage, and went on their way. There, where
the beech-trees bend across the road, it is there they have just
disappeared! The brisk tramp of the pony can be heard even yet; it grows
fainter and fainter, and only the light train of dust now marks their
passage. They are gone; and we are to see them no more!

CHAPTER VIII. CONSULTATION

Every host has had some experience of the fact that there are guests
of whom he takes leave at the drawing-room door, and others who require
that he should accompany them to the very frontier of his kingdom, and
only part with as they step into their carriage. The characters of a
story represent each of these classes. Some make their exit quietly,
unobtrusively; they slip away with a little gesture of the hand, or
a mere look to say adieu. Others arise with a pretentious dignity from
their places, and, in the ruffle of their voluminous plumage, seem
to say, "When we spread out our wings for flight, the small birds may
flutter awa