which indeed he could as a rule mould to the expression of a cherub whenever desirable.  So he sat down in a chair, the first chair to hand, any chair, and began to reflect.  Of course he was safe.  The greatest saint on earth could not have been safer than he was from conviction of a crime.  He might be suspected, but nothing could possibly be proved against him.  Moreover, despite his self-consciousness, he felt innocent; he really did feel innocent, and even ill-used.  The money had forced itself upon him in an inexcusable way; he was convinced that he had never meant to misappropriate it; assuredly he had received not a halfpenny of benefit from it.  The fault was entirely the old lady’s.  Yes, he was innocent and he was safe.

Nevertheless, he did not at all like the resuscitation of the affair.  The affair had been buried.  How characteristic of the inconvenient Julian to rush in from South Africa and dig it up!  Everybody concerned had decided that the old lady on the night of her attack had not been responsible for her actions.  She had annihilated the money—­whether by fire, as Batchgrew had lately suggested, or otherwise, did not matter.  Or, if she had not annihilated the money, she had “done something” with it—­something unknown and unknowable.  Such was the acceptable theory, in which Louis heartily concurred.  The loss was his—­at least half the loss was his—­and others had no right to complain.  But Julian was without discretion.  Within twenty-four hours Julian might well set the whole district talking.

Louis was dimly aware that the district already had talked, but he was not aware to what extent it had talked.  Neither he nor anybody else was aware how the secret had escaped out of the house.  Mrs. Tarns would have died rather than breathe a word.  Rachel, naturally, had said naught; nor had Louis.  Old Batchgrew had decided that his highest interest also was to say naught, and he had informed none save Julian.  Julian might have set the secret free in South Africa, but in a highly distorted form it had been current in certain strata of Five Towns society long before it could have returned from South Africa.  The rough, commonsense verdict of those select few who had winded the secret was simply that “there had been some hanky-panky,” and that beyond doubt Louis was “at the bottom of it,” but that it had little importance, as Mrs. Maldon was dead, poor thing.  As for Julian, “a rough customer, though honest as the day,” he was reckoned to be capable of protecting his own interests.

And then, amid all his apprehensions, a new hope sprouted in Louis’ mind.  Perhaps Julian was acquainted with some fact that might lead to the recovery of a part of the money.  Had Louis not always held that the pile of notes which had penetrated into his pocket did not represent the whole of the nine hundred and sixty-five pounds?  Conceivably it represented about half of the total, in which case a further sum of, say, two hundred and fifty pounds might be coming to Louis.  Already he was treating this two hundred and fifty pounds as a windfall, and wondering in what most pleasant ways he could employ it!...  But with what kind of fact could Julian be acquainted?...  Had Julian been dishonest?  Louis would have liked to think Julian dishonest, but he could not.  Then what ...?