Dangerfield cocked his head on one side, quizzically, and smiled the faintest imaginable cynical smile.

’I can’t disclose anything, for the gentleman never told me his secrets; but all I can relate is heartily at your service.’

‘Can you point him out, Sir?’ asked Mervyn, a little less sternly, for he saw no traces of a guilty knowledge in the severe countenance and prompt, unembarrassed manner of the gentleman who leaned back in his chair, with the clear bright light full on him, and his leg crossed so carelessly.

Dangerfield smiled, shook his head gently, and shrugged his shoulders the least thing in the world.

‘Don’t you know him, Sir?’ demanded Mervyn.

‘Why,’ said Dangerfield, with his chin a little elevated, and the tips of his fingers all brought together, and his elbows resting easily upon the arms of his chair, and altogether an involuntary air of hauteur, ’Charles Archer, perhaps you’re not aware, was not exactly the most reputable acquaintance in the world; and my knowledge of him was very slight indeed—­wholly accidental—­and of very short duration.’

’May I ask you, if, without leaving this town, you can lay your finger on him, Sir?’

‘Why, not conveniently,’ answered Dangerfield, with the same air of cynical amusement. ’’Twould reach in that case all the way to Florence, and even then we should gain little by the discovery.’

‘But you do know him?’ pursued Mervyn.

‘I did, Sir, though very slightly,’ answered Dangerfield.

’And I’m given to understand, Sir, he’s to be found occasionally in this town?’ continued his visitor.

’There’s just one man who sees him, and that’s the parish clerk—­what’s his name?—­Zekiel Irons—­he sees him.  Suppose we send down to his house, and fetch him here, and learn all about it?’ said Dangerfield, who seemed mightily tickled by the whole thing.

’He left the town, Sir, last night; and I’ve reason to suspect, with a resolution of returning no more.  And I must speak plainly, Mr. Dangerfield, ’tis no subject for trifling—­the fame and fortune of a noble family depend on searching out the truth; and I’ll lose my life, Sir, or I’ll discover it.’

Still the old cynical, quizzical smile on Dangerfield’s white face, who said encouragingly—­

‘Nobly resolved, Sir, upon my honour!’

’And Mr. Dangerfield, if you’ll only lay yourself out to help me, with your great knowledge and subtlety—­disclosing everything you know or conjecture, and putting me in train to discover the rest—­so that I may fully clear this dreadful mystery up—­there is no sacrifice of fortune I will not cheerfully make to recompense such immense services, and you may name with confidence your own terms, and think nothing exorbitant.’

For the first time Dangerfield’s countenance actually darkened and grew stern, but Mervyn could not discern whether it was with anger or deep thought, and the round spectacles returned his intense gaze with a white reflected sheen, sightless as death.