“Why for good reasons; because I was a servant in the establishment at the time. Well,” he added, pausing, “it is curious enough that I should have seen this very morning three persons I saw in that asylum.”
“If I had been much longer in that watch-house,” replied the other, “I'm not quite certain but I'd soon be qualified to pay a permanent visit to some of them. Who were the three persons you saw there, in the mane time?”
“That messenger of yours was one of them, and that niggardly baronet was the other; yourself, as I said, making the third.”
The priest looked at him seriously; “you mane Corbet,” said he, “or Dunphy as he is called?”
“I do. He and the baron brought a slip of a boy there; and, upon my conscience, I think there was bad work between them. At all events, poor Mr. Quin and he were inseparable. The lad promised that he would allow himself to be roasted, the very first man, upon the reverend gridiron;—and! for that reason Quin took him into hand; and gave him an excellent education.”
“And no one,” replied the priest, “was better qualified to do it. But what bad work do you suspect between Corbet and the baronet?”
“Why, I have my suspicions,” replied the man. “It's not a month since I heard that the son of that very baronet's brother, who was heir to the estate and titles, disappeared, and has never been heard of since. Now, all the water in the sea wouldn't wash the pair of them clear of what I suspect, which is—that both had a hand in removing that boy. The baronet was a young man at the time, but he has a face that no one could ever forget. As for Corbet, I remember him well, as why shouldn't I? he came there often. I'll take my oath it would be a charity to bring the affair to light.”
“Do you think the boy is there still?” asked the priest, suppressing all appearance of the interest which he felt.
“No,” replied the other, “he escaped about two or three years ago; but, poor lad, when it was discovered that he led too easy a life, and had got educated, his treatment was changed; a straight waistcoat was put on him, and he was placed in solitary confinement. At first he was no more mad than I am; but he did get occasionally mad afterwards. I know he attempted suicide, and nearly cut his throat with a piece of glass one day that his hands got loose while they were changing his linen. Old Rivet died, and the establishment was purchased by Tickleback, who, to my own knowledge, had him regularly scourged.”
“And how did he escape, do you know?” inquired the priest.