"I never had but this one in my life, ma'am; and I have found him one too many."
"His wife is a showy woman, very pale, with handsome features," persisted Mrs. Dundyke, in a tone as dreamy as her gaze. Not that she disbelieved that venerable old man, but it all seemed so great a mystery.
"His wife! my nephew has no wife: I don't know who'd marry him. I tell you, ma'am, you have been taken in by some swindler who must have assumed his name. Though egad! my nephew's little better than a swindler himself, for he gets into debt with everybody who will let him."
Mrs. Dundyke sat silent a few moments, and she then told her tale—told everything that had occurred in connexion with her husband's mysterious fate. But when she came to hint her suspicions of Mr. Hardcastle's having been his destroyer, the old gentleman was visibly shocked and agitated.
"Good heavens! no! Spendthrift though he is, he is not capable of that awful crime. Madam, how do you suppose your husband lost his life? In a struggle? Did they quarrel?"
"I know nothing," answered poor Mrs. Dundyke.
"A quarrel and struggle it may have been. Mr. Hardcastle was a powerful man."
"A what? A powerful man, did you say, this Mr. Hardcastle?"
"Very powerful, sir; tall and strong. Standing nearly six feet high, and as dark as a gipsy."