‘No, certainly; that was quite accounted for,’ said I.

‘And then came the question,’ continued she, ’what motive could Mr. Charke possibly have had for making away with himself.’

‘But is not that very difficult to make out in many cases?’ I interposed.

’It was said that he had some mysterious troubles in London, at which he used to hint.  Some people said that he really was in a scrape, but others that there was no such thing, and that when he talked so he was only jesting.  There was no suspicion during the inquest that your uncle Silas was involved, except those questions of Mr. Manwaring’s.’

‘What were they?’ I asked.

’I really forget; but they greatly offended your uncle, and there was a little scene in the room.  Mr. Manwaring seemed to think that some one had somehow got into the room.  Through the door it could not be, nor down the chimney, for they found an iron bar across the flue, near the top in the masonry.  The window looked into a court-yard no bigger than a ball-room.  They went down and examined it, but, though the ground beneath was moist, they could not discover the slightest trace of a footprint.  So far as they could make out, Mr. Charke had hermetically sealed himself into his room, and then cut his throat with his own razor.’

‘Yes,’ said I, ’for it was all secured—­that is, the window and the door—­upon the inside, and no sign of any attempt to get in.’

’Just so; and when the walls were searched, and, as your uncle Silas directed, the wainscoting removed, some months afterwards, when the scandal grew loudest, then it was evident that there was no concealed access to the room.’

’So the answer to all those calumnies was simply that the crime was impossible,’ said I.  ’How dreadful that such a slander should have required an answer at all!’

’It was an unpleasant affair even then, although I cannot say that anyone supposed Silas guilty; but you know the whole thing was disreputable, that Mr. Charke was a discreditable inmate, the occurrence was horrible, and there was a glare of publicity which brought into relief the scandals of Bartram-Haugh.  But in a little time it became, all on a sudden, a great deal worse.’

My cousin paused to recollect exactly.

’There were very disagreeable whispers among the sporting people in London.  This person, Charke, had written two letters, Yes—­two.  They were published about two months after, by the villain to whom they were written; he wanted to extort money.  They were first talked of a great deal among that set in town; but the moment they were published they produced a sensation in the country, and a storm of newspaper commentary.  The first of these was of no great consequence, but the second was very startling, embarrassing, and even alarming.’

‘What was it, Cousin Monica?’ I whispered.

’I can only tell you in a general way, it is so very long since I read it; but both were written in the same kind of slang, and parts as hard to understand as a prize fight.  I hope you never read those things.’