Mr. Strange at in his drawing-room, on a three-legged stool; the one that supported Mrs. Jinks's tub on washing days. His chairs had been borrowed. He had good-naturedly given up every one: so Mrs. Jinks introduced the wooden stool. These crowded meetings below had amused him at first; but he was getting a little tired with the bustle4 and the noise. Every time the street door was knocked at, it shook his room; the talking below could be heard nearly as plainly as though he were taking part in it. Still it made a little diversion in Mr. Strange's solitary5 existence, if only to watch the arrival of the articles needed for the feast, and to smell the aroma6 of the coffee, made in the kitchen in a huge kettle. The supplies did not concern Mr. Cattacomb; his gentle flock took that on themselves, cost and all. There was no lack of good things, but rather a superabundance: since the Rev7. Mr. Puff8 had come to augment9 the clerical force, the contributions had been too profuse10. So that every one connected with the entertainment was in the seventh heaven of enjoyment11 and good humour; except Mrs. Jinks.
Perched on the hard stool, Mr. Strange, for lack of other employment, had noted12 the dainties as they came in. The wisest of us must unbend sometimes. A basket of muffins full to the brim; eleven sorts of jam--since it was discovered that the Reverend Guy loved preserves to satiety13, the assortments14 had never failed; thirteen kinds of biscuits, trays of cake, glass pots of marmalade and honey, ripe rich fruits of all tempting15 colours, chocolate creams, candied oranges, lovely flowers.
Mr. Strange grew tired of looking; his head ached with the noise, his eyes with the splendour of the ladies' dresses. For the company was arriving now, thick and threefold.
There had arisen a slight, a very slight, modicum16 of displeasure at Mr. Cattacomb. That zealous17 divine had been met four or five times walking with Mr. Moore's third daughter, Jemima: at the last lecture he had distinctly been seen man? uvring to get the young lady next to him. It gave offence. While he belonged to them all, all adored him; but let him once single out one of them for favour more than the rest, and woe19 betide his popularity. "And that little idiot of a Jemima Moore, too, who had not two ideas in her vain head!" as Jane St. Henry confidentially20 remarked. However, the Reverend Guy, upon receiving a hint from Miss Blake that he was giving umbrage21, vowed22 and protested that it was all accident and imagination--that he hardly knew Miss Jemima from her sisters. So peace was restored, and the kettledrum grew out of it.
"I must have my chop all the same, Mrs. Jinks," said Mr. Strange to the widow; who had come upstairs to ask the loan of his sugar tongs23, and looked very red and excited over it.
"In course, sir, you shall have it. It might be ten minutes later, sir, than ord'nary, but I do hope you'll excuse it, sir, if it is. You see how I'm drove with 'em."
"I see that there seems to be a large company arriving."
"Company!" returned Mrs. Jinks, the word causing her temper to explode; "I don't know how they'll ever get inside the room. I shall have to borrow a form from the school next door but one, and put it in the passage for some of 'em; and, when that and the chairs is filled, the rest must stand. Never as long as I live, will I take in a unmarried parson-gent again, if he's one of this here new sort that gets the ladies about him all day in church and gives drums out of it. Hark at the laughing! Them two parsons be in their glory."
"The ladies must be fond of drums, I should think, by their getting them up so frequently," remarked Mr. Strange.
"Drat the huzzies! they'd be fond of fifes too if it brought 'em round Cattakin," was the widow's uncomplimentary rejoinder. "Better for 'em if they'd let the man alone to drink his tea in quiet and write his sermons--which I don't believe ever does get writ24, seeing he never has a minute to himself. Hark at that blessed door!" she continued; and indeed the knocking was keeping up a perpetual chorus. "If they'd only turn the handle they could come in of theirselves. I said so to the Miss St. Henrys one cleaning day that I had been called to it six times while scrubbing down the kitchen stairs, and the young ladies answered me that they'd not come in to Mr. Cattakin's without knocking, for the world."
"I suppose not," said Mr. Strange, slightly laughing.
"Hang that knocker again. There it goes! And me with all the drum on my shoulders. You should see the muffins we've got to toast and butter downstairs, sir; your conscience 'ud fail you. Betsey Chaffin has come in to help me, and she and the girl is at it like steam. I'm afeared that there stool's terrible hard for you, Mr. Strange, sir!" broke off the widow, in condolence.
"It's not as soft as velvet," was the reply. "But I'm glad to oblige: and I am going out presently. Get my chop and tea up when you can."
Mrs. Jinks disappeared; the hum continued. Whether the two parsons, as Mrs. Jinks surmised25, felt "in their glory," cannot be told: the ladies were certainly in theirs. These kettledrums at Mr. Cattacomb's were charmingly attractive.
When Mr. Strange did not return home for his chop at midday, he took it with his tea. His tray was yet before him when the kettledrum trooped out to attend vespers. At least, the company who had formed the drum. The two reverend gentlemen hastened on together a little in advance; Miss Blake led the van behind; and curious Foxwood ran to its windows to see.
Mr. Strange, who had nothing particular on his hands or mind that evening, looked after them. Example is infectious. He felt an inclination26 to follow in their wake--for it had not been his good fortune yet to make one of the worshippers at St. Jerome's; he had never indulged himself with as much as a peep inside the place. Accordingly, Mr. Strange started, after some short delay, and gained the edifice27.
The first object his eyes rested on, struck him as being as ludicrous as an imp28 at the play. It was Tom Pepp in a conical hat tipped with red, and a red cross extending down his white garmented back. Tom Pepp stood near the bell, ready to tinkle29 it at parts of the service. It may as well be stated--lest earnest disciples30 of new movements should feel or take offence--that the form and make of the services at St. Jerome's were entirely31 Mr. Cattacomb's own; invented by himself exclusively, and not copied from any other standard, orthodox or unorthodox. The description of it is taken from facts. Mr. Strange, standing32 at the back near to Tom Pepp, enjoyed full view of all: the ladies prostrate33 on the floor, actually prostrate, some of them, the Reverend Guy facing them with the whites of his eyes turned up; Damon Puff on his knees, presenting his back to the room and giving every now and then a surreptitious stroke to his moustache. The detective had never seen so complete a farce34 in his life, as connected with religion. He thought the two reverend gentlemen might be shut up for a short term as mutinous35 lunatics, by way of receiving a little wholesome36 correction: he knew that if he had a daughter, he would shut her up as one, rather than she should make a spectacle of herself as these other girls were doing.
The services over, Tom Pepp set on at the bell to ring them out with all his might--for that was the custom. Most of them filed out; as did Mr. Damon Puff; and they went on their way. A few of them stopped in, for confession37 to Mr. Cattacomb.
It was growing dusk then. A train was just in, and had deposited some passengers at the station. One of them came along, walking quickly, as if in haste to get home. Happening to turn his head towards St. Jerome's as he passed it, attracted by the bell, he saw there, rather to his surprise, standing just outside the door, Mr. Moore's strong-minded sister. She peered at him in the twilight38; she was no longer so quick of sight as she had been; and recognized Sir Karl Andinnian.
"What, is it you, Miss Diana!" he cried, stopping to hold out his hand. "Have you gone over to St. Jerome's?"
"I'd rather go over to Rome, Sir Karl," was the candid39 answer. "I may lapse40 to St. Jerome's when I get childish perhaps, if it lasts so long. There's no answering for any of us when the mind fails."
Sir Karl laughed slightly. He saw before him the receding41 crowd turning down towards Foxwood village, and knew that vespers must be just over. The ringing of Tom Pepp's bell would have told him that. It was clanging away just above Miss Diana's head.
"You have been to vespers, then," remarked Sir Karl again, almost at a loss what to say, and unable to get away until Miss Diana chose to release his hand.
"Yes, I have been to what they call vespers," she rejoined tartly42; "more shame for a woman of my sober years to say it, as connected with this place. Look at them, trooping on there, that Puff in the midst, who is softer than any apple-puff ever made yet!" continued Miss Diana, pointing her hand in the direction of the vanishing congregation. "They have gone; but there are five staying in for confession. Hark! Hark, Sir Karl! the folly43 is going to begin."
A sweet, silvery-toned bell rang gently within the room, and the clanging bell of Mr. Pepp stopped at the signal. The Reverend Guy had gone into the confessional box, and all other sounds must cease.
"I should think they can hardly see to confess at this hour," said Sir Karl jestingly.
"They light a tallow candle, I believe, and stick it in the vestry," said Miss Diana. "Five of them are staying to-night, as I told you: I always count. They go in one at a time and the others wait their turn outside the vestry. Do you think I am going to let my nieces stay here alone to play at that fun, Sir Karl? No: and so I drag myself here every confessional night. One of them, Jemima, is always staying. She is a little fool."
"It does not seem right," mused3 Sir Karl.
"Right!" ejaculated Miss Diana in an angry tone, as if she could have boxed his ears for the mild word. "It is wrong, Sir Karl, and doubly wrong. I do not care to draw the curb-rein too tightly; they are not my own children, and might rebel; but as sure as they are living, if this folly of stopping behind to confess is to go on, I shall tell the doctor of it. I think, Sir Karl--and you must excuse me for saying so to your face--that you might have done something before now, to put down the pantomime of this St. Jerome's."
"Only this very morning I was with St. Henry, asking him what I could do," was the reply. "His opinion is, that it will cease of itself when the cold weather comes on."
"Will it!" was the sarcastically44 emphatic45 retort. "Not if Cattacomb and the girls can help it. It's neither cold nor heat that will stop them!"
"Well, I am not sure about the law, Miss Diana. I don't know that St. Henry is, either."
"Look here, Sir Karl. If the law is not strong enough to put down these places, there's another remedy. Let all the clergy46 who officiate at them be upwards47 of fifty years old and married. It would soon be proved whether, or not, the girls go for the benefit of their souls."
Sir Karl burst into a laugh.
"It is these off-shoots of semi-religious places, started up here and there by men of vanity, some of whom, I venture to say it, are not licensed48 clergymen, that bring the shame and the scandal upon the true church," concluded Miss Diana. "There: don't let us talk of it further. Have you come from the train?"
"Yes. I had to run up to London for an hour or two to-day."
"Then I daresay you are tired. Give my love to your wife," added Miss Diana, as she wished Sir Karl good evening and turned into St. Jerome's again to watch over her niece Jemima.
Sir Karl strode onwards. He had just come home from his interview with Mr. Burtenshaw. Miss Diana Moore and her sentiments had served to divert his mind for a moment from his own troubles, but they were soon all too present again. The hum of the voices and sound of the footsteps came back to him from the crowd, pursuing its busy way to the village: he was glad to keep on his own solitary course and lose its echo.
Some one else, who had come out of St. Jerome's but who could not be said properly to pertain49 to the crowd, had kept on the solitary road--and that was Mr. Strange. He knew the others would take the direct way to the village and Mrs. Jinks's, and perhaps that was the reason why he did not. But there was no accounting50 for what Mr. Strange did: and one thing was certain--he had been in the habit lately of loitering in that solitary road a good deal after dusk had fallen, smoking his cigar there between whiles.
Sir Karl went on. He had nearly reached the Maze51, though he was on the opposite side, when at a bend of the road there suddenly turned upon him a man with a cigar in his mouth, the end of it glowing like an ember. The smoker52 would have turned his head away again, and passed on, but Sir Karl stopped. He had recognized him: and his mind had been made up on the way from London, to speak to this man.
"I beg your pardon. Mr. Tatton, I think."
Mr. Tatton might possibly have been slightly taken to at hearing himself addressed by his own name: but there was no symptom of it in his voice or manner.
"The same, sir," he readily answered, taking the cigar from his mouth.
"I wish to say a few words to you," pursued Sir Karl. "As well perhaps say them now as later."
"Better, sir. No time like the present: it's all we can make sure of."
"Perhaps you know me, Mr. Tatton?"
"Sir Karl Andinnian--unless I am mistaken," replied the detective, throwing away his cigar.
Sir Karl nodded, but made no assent53 in words. He would have given a portion of his remaining life to discern whether this man of law, whom he so dreaded54, knew, or suspected, that he had not a right to the title.
"I have just come from London," pursued Sir Karl. "I saw Mr. Burtenshaw there to-day. Finding that you were down here, I wished to ascertain55 whether or not you had come here in search of one Philip Salter. And I hear that it is so."
The officer made no remark to this. It might be, that he was uncertain how far he might trust Sir Karl. The latter observed the reticence56: guessed at the doubt.
"We may speak together in perfect confidence, Mr. Tatton. But for me, you would not have been sent here at all. It was in consequence of a communication I made myself, that the suspicion as to Salter reached Scotland Yard."
"I know all about that, Sir Karl," was the reply. "To tell you the truth, I should have made my presence here at Foxwood known to you at once, and asked you to aid me in my search; but I was warned at Scotland Yard that you might possibly obstruct57 my work instead of aiding it, for that you wished to screen Salter."
"Scotland Yard warned you of that!" exclaimed Sir Karl.
"Yes. They had it from Grimley."
"The case is this," said Sir Karl, wishing with his whole heart he could undo58 what he had done. "Some short while back, I had a reason for making some enquiries respecting Philip Salter, and I went to my solicitors59, Plunkett and Plunkett. They could not give me any information, and referred me to Mr. Burtenshaw. Burtenshaw introduced Grimley to me, and I saw them both twice. But I most certainly never intended to imply that Salter was in this neighbourhood, or to afford just grounds for sending down to institute a search after him."
"But I presume that you do know Salter is here, Sir Karl."
"Indeed I do not."
The officer was silent. He thought Sir Karl was intending to deceive him.
"I can tell you that he is here, Sir Karl--to the best of my belief. I could put out my hand at this minute and almost touch the dwelling60 that contains him."
They were nearly opposite the Maze gates, close upon the gate of Clematis Cottage. Karl wondered, with an anxiety, amounting to agony, which of the two dwellings61 was meant. It would be almost as bad for this man to take Salter as to take Adam Andinnian, since the capture of the former might lead to that of the latter.
"You say to the best of your belief, Mr. Tatton. You are not sure, then?"
"I am as sure as I can be, Sir Karl, short of actual sight."
"Good night, Sir Karl."
The interruption came from Mr. Smith, who was leaning over his gate, smoking a pipe. Karl returned the salutation and passed on.
"He seems to have a jolly kind of easy life of it, that agent of yours, Sir Karl?" remarked the officer. "Do you know him?" questioned Karl.
"Only by sight. I have seen Mr. Smith about on the land; and I took the liberty this afternoon, meeting him by chance near the Brook62 field, of asking him what the time was. The spring of my watch broke last night as I was winding63 it."
Karl's heart was beating. Had he been mistaken in supposing Philip Smith to be Philip Salter? Had he been nursing a foolish chimera64, and running his head--or, rather, his poor brother's head--into a noose65 for nothing? God help him, then!
"You seem to know my agent well by sight," he breathed, in a tone kept low, lest its agitation66 should be heard.
"Quite well," assented67 the officer.
"Is he--does he bear any resemblance to Salter?"
"Not the slightest."
Karl paused. "You are sure of that?"
Tatton took a look at Sir Karl in the evening dusk, as if not able to understand him. "He is about the height of Salter, and in complexion68 is somewhat, similar, if you can call that a resemblance," said he. "There is no other."
Karl spoke69 not for a few moments: the way before him was darkening. "You knew Salter's person well, I conclude?" he said presently.
"As well as I know my own brother's."
Another pause; and then Karl laid his hand upon the officer's arm, bespeaking70 his best attention.
"I am sorry for all this," he said; "I am vexed71 to have been the cause of so much trouble. Your mission here may terminate as soon as you will, Mr. Tatton, for it is Smith that I was suspecting of being Salter!"
"No!" cried Tatton in surprised disbelief.
"On my solemn word, I assert it. I suspected my agent, Smith, to be Salter."
"Why, Sir Karl, I can hardly understand that. You surely could not suppose it to be within the bounds of probability that Philip Salter, the fugitive72 criminal, would go about in the light of day in England as your agent goes--no matter how secluded73 the spot might be! And five hundred pounds on his head!"
How a word of ridicule74, of reason even, will serve to change our cherished notions! Put as the cool and experienced police officer put it, Karl seemed to see how poor and foundationless his judgment75 had been.
"The whole cause of the affair was this," he said, hoping by a candid explanation to disarm76 the suspicions he had raised. "A circumstance--I own it was but a slight one--put it into my head that Philip Smith, of whom I had known nothing until he came here a few months ago as my agent, might be the escaped prisoner Philip Salter. The idea grew with me, and I became anxious--naturally you will say--to ascertain whether there were any real grounds for the suspicion. With this view I went up to see if Plunkett's people could give me any information about Salter or describe his person; and they referred me to Mr. Burtenshaw."
"Well, sir?" interposed Tatton, who was listening attentively77.
"I am bound to say that I obtained no corroboration78 of my suspicions, except in regard to the resemblance," continued Sir Karl. "Burtenshaw did not know him; but he summoned the man who had let him escape, Grimley. As Grimley described Salter, it seemed to me that it was the precise description of Smith."
"There is a kind of general resemblance, I admit, Sir Karl, and the description of one might perhaps sound like that of the other. But if you knew the two, you would see how unlike they are."
"Grimley's description seemed to me to be that of Smith," went on Karl. "I came back here, strengthened in my opinion: but not fully79 confirmed. It was not a satisfactory state of things, and the matter continued to worry me. I longed to set it at rest, one way or the other; and I went up again to town and saw Grimley and Mr. Burtenshaw. When I came back once more, I felt nearly as sure as a man can feel that it was Salter."
"And yet you did not denounce him, Sir Karl. You would never have done it, I suppose?"
"I should not," admitted Karl. "My intention was to tax Smith with it privately80, and--and send him about his business. Very wrong and illegal of me, no doubt: but I have suffered too severely81 in my own family by the criminal law of the land, to give up another man gratuitously82 to it."
At this reference to Sir Adam Andinnian, Mr. Tatton remained silent from motives84 of delicacy85. He could understand the objection; especially as coming from a refined, sensitive, and merciful natured man, as Sir Karl appeared to be.
"Well, sir, I can only say for myself that I wish your agent had been Salter," he resumed: "my hands would have been upon him before to-night. But is it true that you have no other suspicion, Sir Karl?"
"What suspicion?"
"That the real Salter is in hiding at Foxwood."
Karl's heart beat a shade faster. "So far from having any suspicion of that kind, I am perfectly86 certain, now that you have proved to me Smith is not Salter, that he is not at Foxwood. I know every soul in the place and around it."
"Were you acquainted with the real Salter, Sir Karl?"
"No."
"You take no interest in him, I presume?"
"None whatever."
During the conversation they had been slowly pacing onwards, had passed the Court gates, and were now fairly on the road to Foxwood. It seemed as if Sir Karl had a mind to escort Mr. Tatton to his home.
"By the way," he said, "why did you call yourself Strange down here?"
"I never did," answered Tatton, laughing slightly. "The widow Jinks gave me that name: I never gave it myself. I said to her I was a stranger, and she must have misunderstood me; for I found afterwards that she was calling me Mr. Strange. It was rather convenient than otherwise, and I did not set it right."
Karl strolled on in silence, wondering how all this would end and whether this dangerous man--dangerous to him and his interests--was satisfied, and would betake himself to town again. A question interrupted him.
"Do you know much of a place here called the Maze, Sir Karl?"
"The Maze is my property. Why?"
"Yes, I am aware of that. What I meant to ask was, whether you knew much of its inmates88."
"It is let to a lady named Grey. Her husband is abroad."
"That's what she tells you, is it? Her husband is there, Sir Karl, if he be her husband. That is where we must look for Philip Salter."
Something born of emotion, of sudden fear, seemed to flash across Karl's eyes and momentarily blind him. A wild prayer went up for guidance, for help to confront this evil.
"Why do you say this?" he asked, his voice controlled to a calm indifference89.
"I have information that some gentleman is living at the Maze in concealment90, and I make no doubt it is Salter. The description of his person, so far as I have it, answers to him. Until to-night, Sir Karl, I have believed that it was to the Maze your own suspicions of Salter were directed."
"Certainly not--on my word of honour as a gentleman," was the reply. "I feel sure you are mistaken; I know you are. Mrs. Grey lives alone at the Maze, save for her servants: two old people who are man and wife."
"I am aware the general belief is that she lives alone. It's not true, though, for all that, Sir Karl."
"Indeed it is true," returned Karl, calmly as before, for he did not dare to show too much zeal18 in Mrs. Grey's cause. "I have been over there pretty often on one matter or another--the house is an old one, and no end of repairs seem to be wanted to it--and I am absolutely sure that no inmate87 whatever is there, save the three I have mentioned: the lady, and the man and woman. I do not count the infant."
"Ay; there; the infant. What does that prove?"
"Nothing--as to your argument. Mrs. Grey only came to the place some five or six months ago. Not yet six, I think."
"Rely upon it, Sir Karl, the lady has contrived91 to blind you, in spite of your visits, just as she has blinded the outside world. Some one is there, concealed92; and I shall be very much surprised if it does not turn out to be Salter. As to the two old servants, they are bound to her interests; are of course as much in the plot as she is."
"I know you are mistaken. I could stake my life that no one else is there. Surely you are not going to act in any way on this idea!"
"I don't know," replied Mr. Tatton, with inward craft. "Time enough. Perhaps I may get some other information before long. Should I require a search-warrant to examine the house, I shall apply to you, Sir Karl. You are in the commission of peace, I believe."
Sir Karl nodded. "If you must have one, I shall be happy to afford it," he said, remembering that if it came to this pass, his being able to avert93 the Maze privately beforehand, would be a boon94. And with that they separated: the detective continuing to pace onwards towards Paradise Row, Sir Karl turning back to his own house.
But the events, of the evening, as concerning the Maze interests, were not altogether at an end. Miss Blake was the last to come out of the confessional, for the rest had taken their turn before her. It was tolerably late then; quite dark; and both Aunt Diana and Tom Pepp were rampant95 at being kept so long. They all turned out of St. Jerome's together, including Mr. Cattacomb; and all, save Miss Blake and the boy, went in the direction of the village. Tom Pepp, having locked up and doffed96 his bell-ringing garments, proceeded the other way, accompanied by Miss Blake.
She was going to visit a sick woman who lived next door to Tom's mother. Miss Blake had her good points, though she was harsh of judgment. This poor woman, Dame97 Bell, was dying of consumption; the end was drawing near, and Miss Blake often went to sit by and read to her. The boy had told her at vespers that night that it was thought she could hardly live till morning: hence the late visit. She found her very ill, and stayed to do what she could.
It was striking ten when Miss Blake quitted the cottage: she heard the quarters and the strokes told out from the distant church at Foxwood. The night was a still one. Tom Pepp, waiting outside, gallantly98 offered to attend her home. She accepted the escort readily, not caring to go alone, as it was so late.
"But I fear it will be keeping your mother up, Tom," she said, in hesitation99. "I know you go to bed early."
"That's nothing, um," said Tom. "Mother have got her clothes from the wash to fold to-night. She telled me I was not to let you go back alone. It have been a rare good day for drying."
So they set off together, talking all the way, for Tom was an intelligent companion, and often had items of news to regale100 the public with. When they came within view of the Maze gates and Clematis Cottage, the loneliness of the way was over, and Miss Blake sent the lad back again, giving him a three-penny-bit.
She was on the Maze side of the way, not having crossed since leaving Mrs. Bell's cottage. And she had all but reached the gates, when the sound of advancing footsteps grew upon her ear. Drawing back amidst the trees--not to watch for Sir Karl Andinnian as she had watched at other times, for she believed him to be in London, but simply to shield herself from observation, as the hour was so late--Miss Blake waited until the footsteps should have gone by.
The footsteps did not go by. They halted at the gate: and she, peeping through the leaves, saw it was Sir Karl. He took the key from his pocket as usual, opened the gate, locked it after him, and plunged101 into the maze. Miss Blake heaved a sigh at man's inventions, and kept still until there was no fear that her rustling102 away would be heard. Then she moved.
She had never been in all her life so near screaming. Taking one step forward to depart, she found herself right in the arms of somebody who had coat sleeves on; another watcher like herself.
"I beg your pardon, ma'am."
"Good gracious, Mr. Strange, how you frightened me!" she whispered. "Whatever are you doing here?"
"Nay103, I may ask what you were doing," was the smiling retort. "On your way home, I take it. As for me, I was smoking my cigar, and it has gone out. That was our friend, Sir Karl Andinnian, I fancy, who let himself in there."
"Oh yes, it was Sir Karl," was the contemptuous answer, given as they walked on together. "It is not the first night by a good many he has been seen stealing in at those gates."
"Paying his court to Mrs. Grey!" returned Mr. Strange, really speaking without any sinister104 motive83, and his mind full of Salter.
Miss Blake, in the honest indignation of her heart, and lately come from the upright exhortations105 of the Reverend Guy, allowed her sentiments their play. Mr. Strange's remark, made in all innocence106, had seemed to show her that he too knew of the scandal.
"It is shameful107!" she said. "Doubly shameful in Sir Karl, a married man."
Mr. Strange pricked108 up his ears. He caught her meaning instantly.
"Nonsense!" said he.
"I wish it was nonsense," said Miss Blake. "When the woman, Betsy Chaffen, was telling the tale in your rooms that day, of the gentleman she saw, and whom she could never see afterwards, I could hardly contain myself, dear sir, knowing it was Sir Karl."
"And--and--do you mean--do you think that there's no Mr. Grey there--no gentleman inmate, I would say?" cried the detective, surprised for once.
"Mr. Grey!" she repeated, scoffingly109. "The only 'Mr. Grey' that exists is Sir Karl Andinnian; I have known it a long while. One or two others here know it also. It is a scandal."
She wished him good night with the last words, crossed the road, and let herself into the grounds of the Court by one of the small gates, leaving Mr. Strange looking after her like a man in a dream, as he tried to solve the problems set a-working in his brain.
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commotion
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| n.骚动，动乱 | |
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pastors
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| n.（基督教的）牧师( pastor的名词复数 ) | |
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mused
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| v.沉思，冥想( muse的过去式和过去分词 )；沉思自语说（某事） | |
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bustle
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| v.喧扰地忙乱，匆忙，奔忙；n.忙碌；喧闹 | |
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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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aroma
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| n.香气，芬芳，芳香 | |
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rev
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| v.发动机旋转，加快速度 | |
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puff
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| n.一口(气)；一阵(风)；v.喷气，喘气 | |
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augment
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| vt.(使)增大，增加，增长，扩张 | |
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10
profuse
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| adj.很多的，大量的，极其丰富的 | |
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11
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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12
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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13
satiety
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| n.饱和；(市场的)充分供应 | |
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assortments
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| 分类，各类物品或同类各种物品的聚集，混合物( assortment的名词复数 ) | |
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15
tempting
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| a.诱人的, 吸引人的 | |
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16
modicum
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| n.少量，一小份 | |
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17
zealous
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| adj.狂热的，热心的 | |
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18
zeal
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| n.热心，热情，热忱 | |
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19
woe
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| n.悲哀，苦痛，不幸，困难；int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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20
confidentially
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| ad.秘密地，悄悄地 | |
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21
umbrage
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| n.不快；树荫 | |
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22
vowed
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| 起誓，发誓（vow的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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23
tongs
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| n.钳；夹子 | |
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24
writ
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| n.命令状，书面命令 | |
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25
surmised
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| v.臆测，推断( surmise的过去式和过去分词 )；揣测；猜想 | |
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26
inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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27
edifice
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| n.宏伟的建筑物(如宫殿，教室) | |
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28
imp
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| n.顽童 | |
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29
tinkle
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| vi.叮当作响；n.叮当声 | |
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30
disciples
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| n.信徒( disciple的名词复数 )；门徒；耶稣的信徒；（尤指）耶稣十二门徒之一 | |
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31
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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32
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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33
prostrate
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| v.拜倒，平卧，衰竭；adj.拜倒的，平卧的，衰竭的 | |
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34
farce
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| n.闹剧，笑剧，滑稽戏；胡闹 | |
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35
mutinous
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| adj.叛变的，反抗的；adv.反抗地，叛变地；n.反抗，叛变 | |
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36
wholesome
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| adj.适合；卫生的；有益健康的；显示身心健康的 | |
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confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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38
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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39
candid
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| adj.公正的，正直的；坦率的 | |
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40
lapse
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| n.过失，流逝，失效，抛弃信仰，间隔；vi.堕落，停止，失效，流逝；vt.使失效 | |
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41
receding
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| v.逐渐远离( recede的现在分词 )；向后倾斜；自原处后退或避开别人的注视；尤指问题 | |
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42
tartly
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| adv.辛辣地，刻薄地 | |
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43
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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44
sarcastically
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| adv.挖苦地，讽刺地 | |
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45
emphatic
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| adj.强调的，着重的；无可置疑的，明显的 | |
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46
clergy
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| n.[总称]牧师，神职人员 | |
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47
upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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48
licensed
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| adj.得到许可的v.许可，颁发执照(license的过去式和过去分词) | |
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49
pertain
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| v.(to)附属，从属；关于；有关；适合，相称 | |
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50
accounting
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| n.会计，会计学，借贷对照表 | |
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51
maze
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| n.迷宫，八阵图，混乱，迷惑 | |
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52
smoker
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| n.吸烟者，吸烟车厢，吸烟室 | |
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53
assent
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| v.批准，认可；n.批准，认可 | |
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54
dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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55
ascertain
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| vt.发现，确定，查明，弄清 | |
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56
reticence
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| n.沉默，含蓄 | |
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57
obstruct
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| v.阻隔，阻塞(道路、通道等)；n.阻碍物，障碍物 | |
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58
undo
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| vt.解开，松开；取消，撤销 | |
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59
solicitors
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| 初级律师( solicitor的名词复数 ) | |
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60
dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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61
dwellings
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| n.住处，处所( dwelling的名词复数 ) | |
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62
brook
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| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
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63
winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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64
chimera
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| n.神话怪物；梦幻 | |
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65
noose
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| n.绳套，绞索（刑）；v.用套索捉；使落入圈套；处以绞刑 | |
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66
agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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67
assented
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| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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68
complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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69
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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70
bespeaking
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| v.预定( bespeak的现在分词 )；订（货）；证明；预先请求 | |
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71
vexed
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| adj.争论不休的；（指问题等）棘手的；争论不休的问题；烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
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72
fugitive
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| adj.逃亡的，易逝的；n.逃犯，逃亡者 | |
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73
secluded
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| adj.与世隔绝的；隐退的；偏僻的v.使隔开，使隐退( seclude的过去式和过去分词) | |
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74
ridicule
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| v.讥讽，挖苦；n.嘲弄 | |
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75
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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76
disarm
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| v.解除武装，回复平常的编制，缓和 | |
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77
attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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78
corroboration
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| n.进一步的证实，进一步的证据 | |
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79
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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80
privately
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| adv.以私人的身份，悄悄地，私下地 | |
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81
severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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82
gratuitously
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| 平白 | |
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83
motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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84
motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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85
delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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86
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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87
inmate
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| n.被收容者；(房屋等的)居住人；住院人 | |
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88
inmates
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| n.囚犯( inmate的名词复数 ) | |
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89
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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90
concealment
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| n.隐藏, 掩盖，隐瞒 | |
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91
contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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92
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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93
avert
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| v.防止，避免；转移(目光、注意力等) | |
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94
boon
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| n.恩赐，恩物，恩惠 | |
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95
rampant
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| adj.(植物)蔓生的；狂暴的，无约束的 | |
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96
doffed
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| v.脱去，（尤指）脱帽( doff的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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97
dame
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| n.女士 | |
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98
gallantly
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| adv. 漂亮地，勇敢地，献殷勤地 | |
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99
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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100
regale
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| v.取悦，款待 | |
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101
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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102
rustling
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| n. 瑟瑟声，沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
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103
nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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104
sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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105
exhortations
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| n.敦促( exhortation的名词复数 )；极力推荐；（正式的）演讲；（宗教仪式中的）劝诫 | |
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106
innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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107
shameful
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| adj.可耻的，不道德的 | |
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108
pricked
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| 刺，扎，戳( prick的过去式和过去分词 )； 刺伤； 刺痛； 使剧痛 | |
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109
scoffingly
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| 带冷笑地 | |
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