Albert and his father returned their warm acknowledgments to the magistrate; and, leaving their address, they were escorted through the same door they had entered from the private room of the magistrate.
The Pursuit.—The Attempted Murder.—A Providential Interference.—The Papers.
For some moments after the departure of his visitors, Sir Frederick Hartleton remained in deep thought, then he commenced a diligent search among some memoranda that he took from an iron chest imbedded in the wall, and, selecting one paper, perused it attentively more than once.
“Surely,” he suddenly exclaimed, “this is the clue at last. Well do I remember the awful night at Learmont, when the storm spread confusion and dismay among the peasantry, and Britton’s ill-omened house was in flames, while the dreadful cries that even now seem to ring in my ears, so forcibly does memory recall them, issued from the burning mass. Let me see. The time. Yes, that is sufficiently near,—between fourteen and fifteen-years since. Learmont in London, and Britton, the smith, living near him? In a style of coarse extravagance and debauchery befitting his coarse nature. Who supplied the funds?—Why the rich ambitious money-loving Squire Learmont, to be sure! And wherefore?—Aye, that’s the question. For one of two reasons, I’ll swear. Either as a reward for present services, or to purchase silence for the past. Humph! Learmont is by no means scrupulous. He would murder the smith. Ay surely would he. There is something then in progress which makes Britton’s life valuable to the squire. And this man, Gray, too. Who is he? Was he the man who rushed with such frantic gestures from the fire with the child in his arms? And is that child, this girl—this Ada, as they call her?—Surely the whole fits well together. But still there is no proof—all is circumstantial as yet, and involved in mere conjecture. Squire Learmont may maintain Britton if he please, and who shall question him?”
Sir Frederick now again remained in silent thought for a long time, then he said in an assured voice,—
“I must trust this affair to no one. It is too intricate for any ordinary scouts to trace. I must see to it myself. The smith, I am aware, holds his drunken orgies at the Chequers. Thither I will myself go, and watch him. Squire Learmont, the time will come when the crimes that I suspect you of may be made apparent; but cunning devil that you are, I must be cautious or I shall alarm you, and defeat myself.”