"No, sir; I can't say I do remember exactly," faltered the footman.
"Were you at home that night?"
"Well, yes, sir, I think I was."
"You are not certain?"
"Well, yes, sir; perhaps I might venture to say as I'm certain," answered the miserable young man, who in his desire to screen his fellow-servant, found himself led on from one falsehood to another.
He knew that he could rely on the honourable silence of the servants; and that none among them would betray the secret of the party at the "Cat and Fiddle."
After completing the examination of the premises, Mr. Larkspur dined comfortably in the housekeeper's room, and then once more sallied forth to the village to finish his afternoon. But on this occasion it was to the "Cat and Fiddle," and not the "Hen and Chickens," that the police-officer betook himself. Here he found only a few bargemen and villagers, carousing upon the wooden benches of a tap-room, drinking their beer out of yellow earthenware mugs, and enjoying themselves in an atmosphere that was almost suffocating from the fumes of strong tobacco.
Mr. Larkspur did not trouble himself to listen to the conversation of these men; he looked into the room for a few minutes and then returned to the bar, where he ordered a glass of brandy-and-water from the girl who served Mr. Maunders's customers in the absence of that gentleman.
"So your master is away from home, my lass," he said, in his most insinuating tone, as he slowly stirred his brandy-and-water.
"Yes, he be, sir."