“My friend,” said Walter, mastering his emotion; “you would serve me more deeply than I can express, if you would give me any information, any conjecture, respecting this—this Mr. Clarke. I have come hither, solely to make inquiry after his fate: in a word, he is—or was—a near relative of mine!”
The old man looked wistfully in Walter’s face. “Indeed,” said he, slowly, “you are welcome, Sir, to all I know; but that is very little, or nothing rather. But will you turn up this walk, Sir? it’s more retired. Did you ever hear of one Richard Houseman?”
“Houseman! yes. He knew my poor—, I mean he knew Clarke; he said Clarke was in his debt when he left the town so suddenly.”
The old man shook his head mysteriously, and looked round. “I will tell you,” said he, laying his hand on Walter’s arm, and speaking in his ear—“I would not accuse any one wrongfully, but I have my doubts that Houseman murdered him.”
“Great God!” murmured Walter, clinging to a post for support. “Go on—heed me not—heed me not—for mercy’s sake go on.”
“Nay, I know nothing certain—nothing certain, believe me,” said the old man, shocked at the effect his words had produced: “it may be better than I think for, and my reasons are not very strong, but you shall hear them.
“Mr. Clarke, you know, came to this town to receive a legacy—you know the particulars.”
Walter impatiently nodded assent.
“Well, though he seemed in poor health, he was a lively careless man, who liked any company who would sit and tell stories, and drink o’nights; not a silly man exactly, but a weak one. Now of all the idle persons of this town, Richard Houseman was the most inclined to this way of life. He had been a soldier—had wandered a good deal about the world—was a bold, talking, reckless fellow—of a character thoroughly profligate; and there were many stories afloat about him, though none were clearly made out. In short, he was suspected of having occasionally taken to the high road; and a stranger who stopped once at my little inn, assured me privately, that though he could not positively swear to his person, he felt convinced that he had been stopped a year before on the London road by Houseman. Notwithstanding all this, as Houseman had some respectable connections in the town—among his relations, by the by, was Mr. Aram—as he was a thoroughly boon companion—a good shot—a bold rider—excellent at a song, and very cheerful and merry, he was not without as much company as he pleased; and the first night, he and Mr. Clarke came together, they grew mighty intimate; indeed, it seemed as if they had met before. On the night Mr. Clarke disappeared, I had been on an excursion with some gentlemen, and in consequence of the snow which had been heavy during the latter part of the day, I did not return to Knaresbro’ till past midnight. In walking through the town, I perceived two men engaged in earnest conversation: one of them, I am sure, was Clarke; the other was wrapped up in a great coat, with the cape over his face, but the watchman had met the same man alone at an earlier hour, and putting aside the cape, perceived that it was Houseman. No one else was seen with Clarke after that hour.”
“But was not Houseman examined?”