“Suppose’n I don’t confess not a syllabub?”

“Then, we shall commit you, all the same, to the County Gaol, to stand your trial at the assizes.”

“That’s all right, I’ll stand my durned trile.  You don’t get nawthin out’n me, you misable, interferin’, ornary, bushwhackin’ jedges!”

“Don’t strike him, Rigby!” commanded Carruthers; for the constable, shocked and outraged by such indecorous language in a court of justice, was about to club his man.  Then he added:  “The colonel’s servant, Maguffin, is going to town on business, and will drive you so far, and help to guard your prisoner.  You can tie him up as tight as you like, without being cruel or doing him an injury.  We shall have to do without you at the inquest.”

Accordingly, while Mr. Maguffin brought round a suitable vehicle, and received his commissions from the colonel, the commitment papers were made out, and Constable Rigby securely fastened the worst criminal that had ever come into his hands.  The said criminal did a little hard swearing, which called the long unused baton into active service.  Davis was quiet and sullen when the buggy, under the pensioner’s command, wheeled away in search of connections for the County Gaol.

The two bodies were still lying in their shells, with ice about them, in the unfinished annex of the post office.  It was, therefore, decided to hold the new inquest in the Bridesdale coach house, as also more convenient for the doctor, whose sprain might have been aggravated by driving.  While Ben Toner was sent with a waggon to the Richards, to bring the ghastly remains snatched from the flames out of the punt, and to convey three members of that family to the coroner’s jury, Mr. Bangs explained to Doctor Halbert his and the lawyer’s thought regarding Matilda Nagle.  The doctor consented, and the detective went to find the patient, who was busy and cheerful in the sewing room with Mrs. Carruthers.  He told her that she was not looking well, and had better come with him to see the doctor; but, with all the cunning of insanity, she refused to go.  He had to go after Coristine in the garden, and take him away from Marjorie.  With the lawyer she went at once, identifying him, as she did not the detective, with her brother Stevy.  Mechanically, she sat down by the kind doctor’s chair, and seemed to recognize him, although he did not remember her.  After a few enquiries as to her health, he took one of her hands in his, and, with the other, made passes over her face, until she fell into the mesmeric sleep.  “Your husband, Mr. Rawdon, is dead,” he said; “you remember that he died by his own hand, and left you free.”  The woman gave a start, and seemed to listen more intently.  “You will kill nobody, hurt nobody, not even a fly,” he continued.  “Do you remember?” Another start of comprehension was made, but nothing more; so he went on:  “You will read your Bible and go to church on Sundays, and take care of your boy, and be just the same to everybody as you