For quite a long minute, Ogledon stared at the trembling Cripps—knitting his brows, and biting his lips at him—the while he turned this thing over in his mind. And the more he stared at Cripps, the more did that gentleman continue to babble of Dandy Chater dead, and Dandy Chater alive and with the diamond necklace. Presently, the strong common sense of the bigger man seemed to assert itself; he caught Cripps by the shoulder, and shook him again, and compelled his attention.

“Now—listen to me, you chattering idiot!” he said. “Are you certain that you took Dandy Chater’s body from the river?”

Dr. Cripps nodded vehemently. “Certain of it,” he replied.

“Where?”

“Just below Woolwich.”

“Just as I thought,” muttered Ogledon to himself. Aloud, he said,—“You’ve been drinking, you little scoundrel, and the sight of a body has upset you. You’ve been drinking spirits—and seeing ’em afterwards. Now—listen to me again; it will be worth your while. This Dandy Chater, being dead, everything he possesses belongs to me; I am the next-of-kin. I’m going now straight to Chater Hall; you’ll have to go with me; and your business will be to hold your tongue, and follow all that I do, and take your cue from me. Dandy Chater come to life again!” he added, with a sneer, giving Cripps a final shake, and casting him roughly off. “You’re killing yourself with all the liquor you take, my friend.”

After listening carefully for some little time, and hearing no disturbing sounds to break the silence all about them, he set off cautiously in the direction of the Hall, followed closely by Cripps. And, as he went along, he reviewed his position.

“Now—I must not forget,” he muttered to himself—“that I have but just returned from a journey, and know nothing of what has happened in my absence. If they know of Dandy’s death, I must be properly horrified at the news; if he has merely disappeared, and they have heard nothing of him—(which I suspect will be the case)—I must be filled with surprise and alarm accordingly. In any case, I play the innocent, and take advantage of what I know, and of what turns up. And I must carry off everything with a bold face.”

Acting upon this resolve, Ogledon made his way to Chater Hall, and loudly rang the bell. It being now nearly midnight, the house was in complete darkness; but, after a time, shuffling feet were heard within, bolts were drawn, and the great doors were slowly opened. Ogledon, advancing boldly, with Cripps sticking close at his heels, confronted a couple of astonished and sleepy-eyed men-servants; pushed past them, and went into the great dining-room.

“Evening, Simms—evening, Barker—or, perhaps I should say, almost morning,” said Ogledon, pleasantly. “I’ve only just arrived from a long journey, and am tired and hungry. You need not disturb any one else; I dare say you can get me—and my friend here,” he added, as an after-thought—“something to eat, and to drink. Anything cold will do; only be quick.”

The men hastened away, to do his bidding. But, just at that moment, a sharp clear voice sounded from upstairs, calling to the men, and demanding to know who had arrived.

Ogledon, listening intently, heard the men give his name, and state what they were doing for his comfort. But this did not appear to satisfy the owner of the voice; for, a few moments afterwards, a rustle of garments was heard on the staircase, and then in the hall; and, the door opening, displayed the figure of Mrs. Dolman the housekeeper, in an antiquated wrapper, and with a light shawl over her head.

“Truly, Mr. Ogledon—truly, gentlemen”—this latter, as she caught sight of Cripps—“I trust you will excuse so informal a reception. Of course, had we expected you, preparation should have been made, and the servants waiting. But, of course, I did not know——”

“Of course not, Mrs. Dolman—of course not,” broke in Ogledon, cheerfully. “No excuses are necessary, I assure you; both myself and my friend—permit me; Dr. Cripps—Mrs. Dolman—the worthy housekeeper here—are quite prepared to take pot-luck, I can assure you.”

Now, when the housekeeper had entered the room, Dr. Cripps, after one momentary glance at her, had turned his back, and pretended to be busy with some books upon a side table; but, having now to turn, in acknowledgment of the introduction, he gave the old lady one searching glance, bowed, and turned away again. But not before she had looked quite as keenly at him, and had clasped her hands, in sudden recognition and astonishment.

“Well—dear me!” cried Mrs. Dolman—“if my eyes do not deceive me, I am known to this gentleman—though it’s many years since I had the pleasure——”

“You are perfectly right,” replied Cripps grudgingly, seeing that there was no help for it. “I am the Dr. Cripps who used to practice in this place, and who——”

“Who brought Master Dandy into the world!” cried the old woman, clasping her hands again.

The Doctor nodded, and turned away, as if to put an end to the conversation; Ogledon was watching him curiously.

“And little did I think, those many years ago, that ever it should have come to this, gentlemen,” went on the old lady, with tears starting to her eyes—“with Master Dandy gone, God knows where, and lying tongues wagging about him, and he not here to defend himself.”

Ogledon took her up quickly. “Lying tongues, Mrs. Dolman? And what, pray, are they daring to say about our dear Dandy?”

“It seems, sir, that there has been a body found—of a young girl who belonged to these parts—in a wood near by; and, because Master Dandy has been seen talking to her once or twice—(as young men will, and always have done, since the good Lord made young men and women!)—they must needs go whispering about that Master Dandy made away with her.”

Ogledon drew in his breath sharply, and rose from his seat; confronted Mrs. Dolman for a moment, in an amazed silence; and finally spoke, in a voice which shook a little with his anxiety.

“I don’t understand,” he said. “Do you suggest that Mr. Chater is accused of murder?”

“That’s what they dare to say, sir,” replied the old lady. “And as he’s been gone from here—and left no word as to where he is—since Wednesday——”

Ogledon, who had turned partially from her, even while he listened intently to all she said, swung round quickly, and interrupted her. “My good woman—what day did you say?”

“Wednesday, sir. Master Dandy went from here very late.”

Ogledon looked at her, for a moment, in blank amazement and terror; put his hand to his shirt collar, and tugged at it, as though he found a difficulty in breathing; moved away a step or two, and then came back to her, smiling in rather a ghastly fashion. He spoke with some little impatience, and yet very clearly and distinctly.

“I—I want to be very—very clear about this, Mrs. Dolman,” he said, speaking in a gasping, breathless sort of fashion, as one deeply agitated, and yet striving to keep control of himself. “I—I have been away in France—Paris—and have only just returned. Mr. Chater and I, as you know, left here a week ago—a week this night—I went to London in the morning—he came on late at night, and met me there. We—we parted—that night; I”—the man passed his hand quickly over his forehead, and tugged again at his shirt collar—“I have not seen him since.”

“Well, sir,” replied the housekeeper—“he came back the next day, sir—Saturday——”

The expression on Ogledon’s face stopped her; she looked at him uneasily. He recovered his composure somewhat, and was about to start again to question her on that disquieting matter, when the two servants entered the room, with the materials for supper. Dr. Cripps had, long before this, discovered a decanter of spirits, and had been helping himself rather liberally to the contents. He came up to the table now, still carrying the decanter, and moaning out a song in a wheezy and cracked voice; sat down, with the decanter at his elbow, and—utterly oblivious of every one else—began his supper; taking a great deal to drink, and very little to eat.

Ogledon being in no mood, with that question still unanswered, for any meal, waited until the men had withdrawn, and then once more approached Mrs. Dolman. White-faced and in deadly anxiety though he was, his smile was soft and kindly, and his voice—albeit a trifle impatient at times of what he supposed to be the good woman’s perversity—as soft and kindly as his smile.

“Now—my dear Mrs. Dolman—pray excuse my pestering you with questions at such an hour, I beg—I am desperately anxious about my cousin, Mr. Chater. You say you saw him on Saturday; are you sure you are not confusing the dates?”

It was the housekeeper’s turn to stare now; after doing so for a moment, in evident perplexity, she shook her head vigorously. “No, Mr. Ogledon—certainly not,” she said; “Master Dandy came down on Saturday—driving from the station in a fly. I sent down to ask if you were expected, sir—and he said he did not know.”

Here a remarkable and ghostly interruption came, in the form of a long wailing chant from Dr. Cripps, who suddenly broke forth, in a quavering treble, with a stave of—“Down Among the Dead Men.” Ogledon, turning furiously, fell upon his friend, and shook him so vigorously, that the little man seemed, for a few moments, in danger of being shaken out of existence altogether. When, however, Ogledon desisted, Cripps merely looked round about him dizzily; smiled, quite as though it were an exercise to which he was accustomed; and set to work drinking harder than ever.

Meantime, Ogledon had turned again to the housekeeper—and began once more to peg away at that subject of the dead man, as though he could never leave it alone.

“Did—did Mr. Chater seem—seem well?” he asked, with some assumption of carelessness.

“I never saw him looking better, Mr. Ogledon,” replied the housekeeper, tranquilly. “And now, gentlemen,” she added—“seeing that you have all you require, I will take the liberty of going to bed.”

“By all means,” responded Ogledon, appearing to wake suddenly from a heavy musing fit which had been upon him. “By all means, Mrs. Dolman. You are quite sure, Mrs. Dolman—quite sure that you have made no mistake about the date?”

“Quite certain, Mr. Ogledon,” she replied, a little coldly. “I am not likely to make such mistakes as that, sir; it was impressed upon me the more, perhaps, because Master Dandy got up very early the next morning—Sunday that was—and afterwards went to church.”

“Dandy Chater went to church!” exclaimed Ogledon; and, at the mere suggestion of such a thing, he smiled in good earnest, despite the seriousness of the matter to him. His face cleared a little; he seemed to see an easy solution of the business. “My good soul—you have certainly been dreaming; Dandy Chater would never have gone to church!”

Mrs. Dolman looked at him for a moment, in majestic silence; drew herself up to her full height, as though about to make a withering speech; remembered her position, and merely bade him “Good-night”; and walked, in a stately fashion, from the room.

For a long time, Ogledon paced the room restlessly—stopping every now and then, on the opposite side of the table to Cripps (who had fallen asleep, with an arm thrown lovingly round the decanter) to look at that gentleman doubtfully, as though half inclined to wake him, and endeavour to get something out of him. But at last, a new thought striking him, he rang the bell, and waited near the door until one of the sleepy men-servants answered the summons.

“Simms,” he said—not looking at the man, but keeping his eyes fixed on the floor—“has Harry Routley gone to bed?”

“Hours ago, sir,” replied the man.

“Wake him at once; tell him I want to see him.”

Some ten minutes later, Harry knocked at the door, and came in; having dressed hurriedly, and having all the appearance of one roused unexpectedly from sleep. Ogledon nodded to him, with a smile.

“Harry—I’m sorry to trouble you, at such an hour as this, but I am worried about Mr. Chater.”

At the mention of that name, the lad suddenly became rigid, and set his lips, as though with the determination to say nothing. Ogledon, after a pause, went on again, evidently disconcerted.

“We—Mr. Chater and I—have somehow—somehow missed each other. I was called—called abroad; I parted from him rather—hurriedly. Coming back to-night I hear from Mrs. Dolman that he—that he has gone away again.”

“Yes, sir. Last Wednesday.”

If Harry had suddenly dealt Ogledon a heavy blow, he could not have staggered or surprised him more. Recovering instantly, however, he came at the other with a rush, and caught him by the throat; his dark face almost livid with passion.

“You hound!” he said, in a sort of hoarse whisper—“this is a trick—a lying tale, hatched up amongst you here. Do you want to drive me mad?” Then, seeing the look of blank amazement and growing wrath in the other’s eyes, his mood changed swiftly, and he dropped his hands, and passed one over his forehead, in the same nervous fashion as before. “I—I beg your pardon, Harry; I had no right to speak to you in such a way. But I—I have been ill—and am faint—faint and weak, from a long journey, and but little food. Take—take a glass of wine, Harry—and then answer me clearly.”

He turned to the table, and poured out wine with a shaking hand; carried it—spilling a little as he did so—to the lad. But Harry shook his head, and seemed to put away the glass with his hand. He was suspicious of every one and everything at that time.

“I can answer you quite clearly, sir,” he said, brusquely.

“Mr. Chater went with me to London—not with me, but on the same day; we met in London—a week ago. I have not seen him since. Have you?” He seemed to listen for the answer of the other, as though his life hung upon it.

“Yes, sir. Master Dandy came down the next day, quite unexpectedly; went to church——”

Ogledon signed to him with his hand to go away. “That will do,” he said. “You can go to bed.”

When he was left alone in the room with the sleeping Cripps, he went almost mechanically, as it seemed, to the table, and unsteadily poured out some brandy, and drank it. Then, with an awful eager hurry upon him, he ran round the table, and caught Cripps by the shoulders, and dragged him to his feet.

“Wake up, you drunken fool—wake up!” he cried, in a voice but little greater than a whisper. “I shall go mad, if I stop here alone, with this thing weighing upon me. Come—open your eyes; listen to what I have to say!”

Dr. Cripps, striving hard to go to sleep again, even while held upright by his friend, tried a line or two of his former lugubrious ditty, and smiled feebly. Ogledon, all impatience however, brought him rapidly to something of sobriety, by unceremoniously emptying the remains of a glass of spirits over him; whereupon he shuddered, and shivered, and opened his eyes fully; and stood upright without assistance.

“Now, Cripps—just attend to me—for I mean business. If you deceive me, by so much as a word, it’ll be the worse for you. You tell me you took this body from the river? What day was that?”

The Doctor blinked his eyelids, moistened his lips with his tongue, and looked extraordinarily grave. “Thish afternoon—no—thish is to-morrow mornin’—ain’t it? Yeshterday afternoon, I mean——”

“I know what you mean; you mean a few hours since—say, ten or a dozen—eh?” cried Ogledon, impatiently, yet always in that low, cautious tone.

“Thash it,” replied the Doctor, fast merging into sleep again.

“Very well then. You understand your business, I suppose; how long had this man—this body—been in the water?”

“Five—shix days—p’raps a week,” said the other. Then, suddenly becoming more sober, at the recollection of what had so recently happened, the little man waved his arms wildly, and exclaimed, in his thin piping voice—“But that’s nothing—nothing ’t all. Dandy Chater came to meeting; took bank-notes—his own—yours, too——”

“What the devil are you talking about?” cried Ogledon, almost as wildly as the other. “What meeting—what notes?”

“Tuesday. The boys divided up—share and share alike—Dandy took yours and his own. And to-night—ugh!—he was in that damned garden, and took the necklace. He takes everything.”

Ogledon wiped his face, and even his hands, and poured out more brandy. Drinking it, he looked over the top of the glass at Cripps; set the glass down, and stood nervously beating his hands together, and biting his lips.

“Cripps,” he said at last, in a whisper—“this thing has got the better of me. As sure as Heaven, Dandy Chater is—is dead.”

The Doctor saw something in Ogledon’s eyes which completely sobered him; he sank down helplessly in a chair. “You don’t mean—” he began.

Ogledon nodded. “We—we had a row. We’ve had—had rows before. Besides—the fool was in my way—in my way everywhere. I’d got out of him all I wanted. I followed him down to the river, a week ago, and struck him down there—from behind. I know he was dead; I felt for his heart. Then I made a bolt for it; got to Paris, so as to be out of the way—and came back here only to-day. I’ve watched the papers, for a week; I came back, expecting to hear that the body had been found, and that this house was in mourning. Cripps—as Heaven’s above us, there is some devilish Thing going about—from the grave—from anywhere you will—in the likeness of this man we both know to be dead.”

The little Doctor was trembling from head to foot; not sober enough yet to understand the magnitude of the thing, and having, after that lapse of twenty-eight years, but a dim and fleeting recollection of the birth at Chater Hall. Indeed, then, as now, he had been always in so hazy a condition, that it is doubtful if he remembered the real circumstances.

“It has been seen at this meeting; it came here; it dogged us to-night. I’m—I’m choking, Cripps; I must have one of these windows open.”

He crossed the room hurriedly, and flung back a heavy curtain, which hung across the long French window which opened on to the terrace. But, the next moment, he started back with a scream, and covered his face with his hands; for there, in the clear cold light of the moon, stood the living image of Dandy Chater, looking calmly at him.