“Well then, on that understanding—­the man works all night in a deserted church at Cairnhope; it is all up among the hills.”

Grotait turned red.  “Are you sure of this?”

“Quite sure?”

“You have seen him?”

“Yes.”

“Has he a forge?”

“Yes; and bellows, and quantities of molds, and strips of steel.  He is working on a large scale.”

“It shall be looked into, sir, by the proper persons.  Indeed, the sooner they are informed, the better.”

“Yes, but mind, no violence.  You are strong enough to drive him out of the country without that.”

“I should hope so.”

Coventry then rose, and left the place; but he had no sooner got into the street, than a sort of horror fell on him; horror of himself, distrust and dread of the consequences, to his rival but benefactor.

Almost at the door he was met by Mr. Ransome, who stopped him and gave him Little’s address; he had obtained it without difficulty from Bayne.

“I am glad you reminded me, sir,” said he; “I shall call on him myself, one of these days.”

These words rang in Coventry’s ears, and put him in a cold perspiration.  “Fool!” thought he, “to go and ask a public officer, a man who hears every body in turn.”

What he had done disinclined him to return to Cairnhope.  He made a call or two first, and loitered about, and then at last back to Raby, gnawed with misgivings and incipient remorse.

Mr. Grotait sent immediately for Mr. Parkin, Mr. Jobson, and Mr. Potter, and told them the secret information he had just received.

They could hardly believe it at first; Jobson, especially, was incredulous.  He said he had kept his eye on Little, and assured them the man had gone into woodcarving, and was to be seen in the town all day.

“Ay,” said Parkin, “but this is at night; and, now I think of it, I met him t’other day, about dusk, galloping east, as hard as he could go.”

“My information is from a sure source,” said Grotait, stiffly.

Parkin.—­“What is to be done?”

Jobson.—­“Is he worth another strike?”

Potter.—­“The time is unfavorable:  here’s a slap of dull trade.”

The three then put their heads together, and various plans were suggested and discussed, and, as the parties were not now before the public, that horror of gunpowder, vitriol, and life-preservers, which figured in their notices and resolutions, did not appear in their conversation.  Grotait alone was silent and doubtful.  This Grotait was the greatest fanatic of the four, and, like all fanatics, capable of vast cruelty:  but his cruelty lay in his head, rather than in his heart.  Out of Trade questions, the man, though vain and arrogant, was of a genial and rather a kindly nature; and, even in Trade questions, being more intelligent than his fellows, he was sometimes infested with a gleam of humanity.