"To be sure not, sir," said the butler.

I went through the form of "shaking him by the 'and"--like Mr.

Norris--not, however, with genuine enthusiasm. For I had failed

ingloriously to get the address for myself; and I felt a sure conviction

that Bellairs had done better, or he had still been here and still

cultivating Mr. Denman.

I had escaped the grounds and the cattle; I could not escape the

house. A lady with silver hair, a slender silver voice, and a stream of

insignificant information not to be diverted, led me through the picture

gallery, the music-room, the great dining-room, the long drawing-room,

the Indian room, the theatre, and every corner (as I thought) of that

interminable mansion. There was but one place reserved; the garden-room,

whither Lady Ann had now retired. I paused a moment on the outside of

the door, and smiled to myself. The situation was indeed strange, and

these thin boards divided the secret of the Flying Scud.

All the while, as I went to and fro, I was considering the visit and

departure of Bellairs. That he had got the address, I was quite certain:

that he had not got it by direct questioning, I was convinced; some

ingenuity, some lucky accident, had served him. A similar chance, an

equal ingenuity, was required; or I was left helpless, the ferret must

run down his prey, the great oaks fall, the Raphaels be scattered, the

house let to some stockbroker suddenly made rich, and the name which now

filled the mouths of five or six parishes dwindle to a memory. Strange

that such great matters, so old a mansion, a family so ancient and so

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