“I believe what you say—­I believe all you say, Mr. Richard, touching Thorn,” debated the attorney; “but it’s next to impossible to take in so astounding a fact as that he is Sir Francis Levison.”

“You can satisfy yourself of the fact from other lips than mine,” said Richard.  “Otway Bethel could testify to it if he would, though I doubt his willingness.  But there’s Ebenezer James.”

“What does he know about it?” asked the attorney, in surprise.  “Ebenezer James is in our office at present.”

“He saw Thorn often enough in those days, and has, I hear, recognized him as Levison.  You had better inquire of him.  Should you object to take cause against Levison?”

“Not a bit of it.  Let me be assured that I am upon safe grounds as to the identity of the man, and I’ll proceed in it forthwith.  Levison is an out-and-out scoundrel, as Levison, and deserves hanging.  I will send for James at once, and hear what he says,” he concluded, after a pause of consideration.

Richard Hare started wildly up.  “Not while I am here; he must not see me.  For Heaven’s sake, consider the peril to me, Mr. Ball!”

“Pooh, pooh!” laughed the attorney.  “Do you suppose I have but this one reception-room?  We don’t let cats into cages where canary birds are kept.”

Ebenezer James returned with the messenger dispatched after him.

“You’ll be sure to find him at the singing saloon,” Mr. Ball had said; and there the gentleman was found.

“Is it any copying, sir, wanted to be done in a hurry?” cried James, when he came in.

“No,” replied the attorney.  “I wish a question or two answered, that’s all.  Did you ever know Sir Francis Levison to go by any name but his own?”

“Yes, sir.  He has gone by the name of Thorn.”

A pause.  “When was this?”

“It was the autumn when Hallijohn was killed.  Thorn used to be prowling about there in an evening—­in the wood and at the cottage, I mean.”

“What did he prowl for?”

Ebenezer James laughed.  “For the same reason that several more did—­I, for one.  He was sweet upon Afy Hallijohn.”

“Where was he living at the time?  I never remember him in West Lynne.”

“He was not at West Lynne, sir.  On the contrary, he seemed to take precious good care that West Lynne and he kept separate.  A splendid horse he rode, a thoroughbred; and he used to come galloping into the wood at dusk, get over his chat with Miss Afy, mount, and gallop away again.”

“Where to?  Where did he come from?”

“From somewhere toward Swainson; a ten mile’s ride, Afy used to say he had.  Now that he has appeared here in his own plumage, of course I can put two and two together, and not be at much fault for the exact spot.”

“And where’s that?” asked the lawyer.

“Levison Park,” said Mr. Ebenezer.  “There’s little doubt he was stopping at his uncle’s, and you know that is close to Swainson.”