Neither John nor Nicky could find anything to say in answer to all this, but Carlyon replied with his usual calm good sense and, as soon as word was brought that Mr. Cheviot’s chaise was waiting at the door, conducted nun out to it. When he returned it was to find that John had picked up from Francis’ chair his copy of the Morning Post, folded open at the requisite sheet, and was just starting to read aloud, in a slow, stupefied voice: “ A melancholy event happened two evenings since in Lincoln’s Inn Fields, where the body of a Young Man, done to death under circumstances of horrid Barbarity, was discovered yesterday morning by Mr. B —, a Clerk employed in the Chambers of a certain well-known Attorney. We understand the unfortunate Young Man to have been M. L — De C —., the Scion of one of the Distinguished families of French Emigrants with which the Metropolis still abounds. There would appear to be little room for doubt that the motive for this Brutal Murder was robbery, since we learn that M. L —. De C —’ s pockets had been ransacked, and watch, fobs, seals, pins, rings — in fact, every adjunct to a Gentleman’s apparel, stripped from his person. We think it not ineligible to advert yet once again in these columns to the shocking prevalence of pickpockets in the Metropolis, and to demand for our fellow Citizens some better protection from the violence of these freebooters than the Vigilance of the Decrepit Dotards who at present patrol our streets, and —Oh, et cetera, et cetera!” John concluded impatiently. “My God, Ned, what devilish stratagems have we stumbled on? Pickpockets! I wish it might be so indeed!”
“Is that all it says in the Post? ”asked Carlyon.
“That’s all, save for the usual plaint about the ineptitude of the Watch, and of the constables. It’s enough, my God!”
“Nicky, go and inquire of Chorley whether the London papers are yet arrived, will you? There may be something more in the Times, or the Advertizer. ”
Nicky went out of the room at once. John flung down the Morning Post, and said gravely, “Ned, this is a shocking business! I do not wonder that Cheviot should be so overcome. There can be no question but that he is in this affair hand in glove with De Castres and those who must stand behind De Castres. If he fails to discover what is so desperately needed he must shake in his shoes to think what may be his own fate!”
“You think De Castres was murdered by French agents?”
“I do not know, but that presents itself to me as the likeliest answer to a riddle which I’ll take my oath will never be solved! If De Castres had promised his masters that memorandum or his copy of it—! He may even have received moneys already, or the suspicion may have entered their minds that he was fobbing them off with a plausible tale and meant himself to reap all the advantage. I have never believed him to have been a principal in this business: I still do not. Something must have been known against him had that been so, and I cannot discover that he is any more suspect than any other young Frenchman at large in this country.”
“Yes,” said Nicky, who had come back into the room. “Or he might have been killed by one of our people, might he not? One of our spies, I mean?”
“I suppose it is possible,” John replied reluctantly. “It would be grossly improper however, and I prefer to think—not but what the fellows one is forced to employ in that work have necessarily few scruples. Well, what has the Times to say, Ned?”
“Nothing more than you have read in the Post, ”Carlyon answered, handing the paper over to him.