Mr. Smith looked round to be sure that the door was closed, and then asked Sir Karl if he'd mind having the window shut; he felt a bit of a draught. And he shut the glass doors himself with his one hand, before Karl could assent to the proposal, or rise to do it himself.
"It is Seaford the miller," he answered. "And"--dropping his voice to the lowest and most cautious tone--"it is a fact that he has the brokers in for some arrears of Queen's rates. But the man has satisfied me that it is but a temporary embarrassment; and I think, Sir Karl, your rent is in no danger. Still it was right that you should know of it; and it has served, just in the nick of time, to account for my object in coming."
"What is the real object?" inquired Karl, in a voice as cautious as the other voice.
Mr. Smith took a newspaper out of the pocket of his light summer coat; borrowed his disabled hand from the sling to help unfold it, and then, pointed to a small paragraph. It ran as follows:--
"Curious rumours are afloat connected with a recorded attempt at escape from Portland Island, in which the unfortunate malefactor met his death. A mysterious whisper has arisen, we know not how or whence, that the death was but a fiction, and that the man is at large."
"What paper is it?" cried Karl, trying to force some colour into his white lips.
"Only one in which all kinds of stories are got up," rejoined
Mr. Smith, showing the title of a sensational weekly paper. "The paragraph may have resulted from nothing but the imagination of some penny-a-liner, Sir Karl, at fault for real matter."
"I don't like it," observed Karl, after a pause. "Assume that it may be as you suggest, and nothing more, this very announcement will be the means of drawing people's thoughts towards it."
"Not it," spoke Mr. Smith. "And if it does?--nobody will think it points to Sir Adam Andinnian. Another prisoner has been killed since then, trying to escape."
"How do you know that?"