On the present occasion as he entered the study, the squire observed with surprise that he looked grave.  He had never witnessed such a phenomenon before and argued that it was just possible that something of real importance might have occurred.

“Good morning, sir,” said Mr. Gall, approaching the squire respectfully, after carefully closing the door behind him.

“Good morning, Gall.  Nothing wrong, I hope?”

“Not yet, sir.  I hope not, sir.  Only a little matter of business, Mr. Juxon.  In point of fact, sir, I wished to consult you.”

“Yes,” said the squire who was used to the constable’s method of circumlocution.  “Yes—­what is it?”

“Well, sir—­it’s this,” said the policeman, running his thumb round the inside of his belt as though to test the pressure, and clearing his throat.  “There has been a general order sent down to be on the lookout, sir.  So I thought it would be best to take your opinion.”

“My opinion,” said the squire with great gravity, “is that if you are directed to be on the look-out, you should be on the look-out; by all means.  What are you to be on the look-out for?”

“In point of fact, sir,” said the constable, lowering his voice, “we are informed that a criminal has escaped from Portland.  I never heard of a convict getting out of that strong’old o’ the law, sir, and I would like to have your opinion upon it.”

“But if you are informed that some one has escaped,” remarked the squire, “you had better take it for granted that it is true.”

“Juss so, sir.  But the circumstances wasn’t communicated to us, sir; so we don’t know.”

Mr. Gall paused, and the squire smoothed his hair a little.

“Well, Gall,” said Mr. Juxon, “have you any reason for believing that this escaped convict is likely to come this way?”

“Well sir, there is some evidence,” answered the policeman, mysteriously.  “Leastways what seems like evidence to me, sir.”

“Of what kind?” the squire fixed his quiet eyes on Mr. Gall’s face.

“His name, sir.  The name of the convict.  There is a party of that name residin’ here.”

The squire suddenly guessed what was coming, or at least a possibility of it crossed his mind.  If Mr. Gall had been a more observant man he would have seen that Mr. Juxon grew a shade paler and changed one leg over the other as he sat.  But in that moment he had time to nerve himself for the worst.

“And what is the name, if you please?” he asked calmly.

“The name in the general orders is Goddard, sir—­Walter Goddard.  He was convicted of forgery three years ago, sir, a regular bad lot.  But discretion is recommended in the orders, sir, as the business is not wanted to get into the papers.”

The squire was ready.  If Gall did not know that Mary Goddard was the wife of the convict Walter, he should certainly not find it out.  In any other country of Europe that would have been the first fact communicated to the local police.  Very likely, thought Mr. Juxon, nobody knew it.