“Nonsense, Mr. Ebenezer!”

Mr. Dill, bursting with the strange news he had heard, endeavored to force his way through the crowd, that he might communicate it to Mr. Carlyle.  The crowd was, however, too dense for him, and he had to wait the opportunity of escaping with what patience he might.  When it came he made his way to the office, and entered Mr. Carlyle’s private room.  That gentleman was seated at his desk, signing letters.

“Why, Dill, you are out of breath!”

“Well I may be!  Mr. Archibald, I have been listening to the most extraordinary statement.  I have found out about Thorn.  Who do you think he is?”

Mr. Carlyle put down his pen and looked full in the old man’s face; he had never seen him so excited.

“It’s that man, Levison.”

“I do not understand you,” said Mr. Carlyle.  He did not.  It was as good as Hebrew to him.  “The Levison of to-day, your opponent, is the Thorn who went after Afy Hallijohn.  It is so, Mr. Archibald.”

“It cannot be!” slowly uttered Mr. Carlyle, thought upon thought working havoc with his brain.  “Where did you hear this?”

Mr. Dill told his tale.  Otway Bethel’s recognition of him; Sir Francis Levison’s scared paleness, for he had noticed that; Mr. Ebenezer’s revelation.  The point in it all, that finally settled most upon Mr. Carlyle, was the thought that if Levison were indeed the man, he could not be instrumental in bringing him to justice.

“Bethel has denied to me more than once that he knew Thorn, or was aware of such a man being in existence,” observed Mr. Carlyle.

“He must have had a purpose in it, then,” returned Mr. Dill.  “They knew each other to-day.  Levison recognized him for certain, although he carried it off with a high hand, pretending not.”

“And it was not as Levison, but as Thorn, that Bethel recognized him?”

“There’s little doubt of that.  He did not mention the name, Thorn; but he was evidently struck with astonishment at hearing that it was Levison.  If they have not some secret between them, Mr. Archibald, I’ll never believe my own eyes again.”

“Mrs. Hare’s opinion is that Bethel had to do with the murder,” said Mr. Carlyle, in a low tone.

“If that is their secret, Bethel knows the murderer, rely upon it,” was the answer.  “Mr. Archibald, it seems to me that now or never is the time to clear up Richard.”

“Aye; but how set about it?” responded Mr. Carlyle.

Meanwhile Barbara had proceeded home in her carriage, her brain as busy as Mr. Carlyle’s, perhaps more troubled.  Her springing lightly and hastily out the moment it stopped, disdaining the footman’s arm, her compressed lips and absent countenance, proved that her resolution was set upon some plan of action.  William and Madame Vine met her in the hall.

“We have seen Dr. Martin, Mrs. Carlyle.”

“And he says—­”

“I cannot stay to hear now, William.  I will see you later, madame.”