“Eh, man!” ejaculated the pleased Squire; “I’ll hae to turn lawyer mysel’.  Now, here’s later doon, the same day—­B.D.—­S.C.—­P.O. scripsi H.B. ven. inst.  Come, my prophetic friend.”

Triumphantly, the lawyer rolled out:  “Bride’s Dale, Squire Carruthers, Post Office.  I have written H.B. to come instanter.”

“Have you his letter, Mr. Bengs?” the Squire asked, and at once it was produced with the Flanders post mark on it, written on the Bridesdale paper, and in Nash’s peculiar way.  Still Mr. Carruthers doubted.  How could he be sure that the letter had fallen into the right hands, or that this smooth-spoken swell was not a cunning agent of Rawdon’s?

“John,” said the minister, stooping, and lifting something off the carpet, “here’s a bit of paper you’ve dropped out of the pocket-book, or perhaps out of that bookie you’re reading from.”

The Squire eyed the paper, and then, stretching his arm over the table, shook the detective warmly by the hand.  “It was very foolish of me, Mr. Bangs, not to have seen that at first.  It gives notice of your arrival, and describes you perfectly.  There’s a bit of Latin, Mr. Errol, you might ask our friend.  It seems to be a sort of watchword with a countersign.”

The minister took the paper and read, “quod quaeris?” whereupon the detective smiled, and answered promptly, “molares ebrii.”

“What in aa the warld’s yon, Coristine?” enquired the Squire.

“Mr. Errol asked Mr. Bangs, ‘What are you looking for?’ and he answered, ‘For full grindstones.’”

“When a man is ebrius, John,” continued the minister, “he’s no’ just sober.  Weel, weel, the catechis is over, and ye can tak’ puir Nash’s frien’ into our plans.  Thank Providence, there’s the breakfast gong.”

The ladies were astonished to see the new arrival enter the dining-room, the breakfast-room table being too small, with his three inquisitors.  He was quite polite, however, though a little stiltedly so, as if not to the manner born.  Mr. Terry insisted on vacating his seat in Mr. Bangs favour.  He said:  “There’s a foine Oirishman from the narth by the name av Hill Oi wud be plazed to have some conversation wid, so yeez ’ll jist koindly ekshcuse me all,” and left for the kitchen.  There were sixteen people at the table, so when Squire Walker turned up, Marjorie, who had been brought in to equalize the sides, had to yield her place to him, and follow the veteran to the lower sphere, in one apartment of which the children, under Tryphosa’s rule, had a separate table.  To this Mr. Terry invited his countryman, the old schoolmaster, who, in spite of his recent deipnosophistic repast with Mr. Maguffin, was ready for something warm.  He confidentially whispered to Mr. Terry that no doubt nagurs had sowls and were human, but he wasn’t pudden’ fond of their society.  In the dining-room, Mr. Bangs and Squire Walker, in the centre of the table, were in exile, for Wilkinson and the Captain