"There can be no reason for your hesitating about making a communication to us," said Henry. "It is unfriendly not to do so."
"My dear boy, you will excuse me for saying that you don't know what you are talking about."
"Can you give any reason?"
"Yes; respect for the living. I should have to relate something of the dead which would be hurtful to their feelings."
Henry was silent for a few moments, and then he said,—
"What dead? And who are the living?"
"Another time," whispered the doctor to him; "another time, Henry. Do not press me now. But you shall know all another time."
"I must be content. But now let us remember that another man yet lingers in Bannerworth Hall. I will endure suspense on his account no longer. He is an intruder there; so I go at once to dislodge him."
No one made any opposition to this move, not even the doctor; so Henry preceded them all to the house. They passed through the open window into the long hall, and from thence into every apartment of the mansion, without finding the object of their search. But from one of the windows up to which there grew great masses of ivy, there hung a rope, by which any one might easily have let himself down; and no doubt, therefore, existed in all their minds that the hangman had sufficiently profited by the confusion incidental to the supposed shooting of the doctor, to make good his escape from the place.
"And so, after all," said Henry, "we are completely foiled?"