Mr. Carlyle came to the front door, opened it, and admitted Captain Thorn.  He brought him into the clerk’s office, which was bright with gas, keeping him in conversation for a few minutes standing, and then asking him to be seated—­all in full view of the little window.

“I must beg your pardon, for being late,” Captain Thorn observed.  “I am half an hour beyond the time you mentioned, but the Herberts had two or three friends at dinner, and I could not get away.  I hope, Mr. Carlyle, you have not come to your office to-night purposely for me.”

“Business must be attended to,” somewhat evasively answered Mr. Carlyle; “I have been out myself nearly all day.  We received a communication from London this morning, relative to your affair, and I am sorry to say anything but satisfactory.  They will not wait.”

“But I am not liable, Mr. Carlyle, not liable in justice.”

“No—­if what you tell me be correct.  But justice and law are sometimes in opposition, Captain Thorn.”

Captain Thorn sat in perplexity.  “They will not get me arrested here, will they?”

“They would have done it, beyond doubt; but I have caused a letter to be written and dispatched to them, which must bring forth an answer before any violent proceedings are taken.  That answer will be here the morning after to-morrow.”

“And what am I do to then?”

“I think it is probable there may be a way of checkmating them.  But I am not sure, Captain Thorn, that I can give my attention further to this affair.”

“I hope and trust you will,” was the reply.

“You have not forgotten that I told you at first I could not promise to do so,” rejoined Mr. Carlyle.  “You shall hear from me to-morrow.  If I carry it on for you, I will then appoint an hour for you to be here on the following day; if not—­why, I dare say you will find a solicitor as capable of assisting you as I am.”

“But why will you not?  What is the reason?”

“I cannot always give reasons for what I do,” was the response.  “You will hear from me to-morrow.”

He rose as he spoke; Captain Thorn also rose.  Mr. Carlyle detained him yet a few moments, and then saw him out at the front door and fastened it.

He returned and released Richard.  The latter took off his hat as he advanced into the blaze of light.

“Well, Richard, is it the same man?”

“No, sir.  Not in the least like him.”

Mr. Carlyle, though little given to emotion, felt a strange relief—­relief for Captain Thorn’s sake.  He had rarely seen one whom he could so little associate with the notion of a murderer as Captain Thorn, and he was a man who exceedingly won upon the regard.  He would heartily help him out of his dilemma now.

“Excepting that they are both tall, with nearly the same color of hair, there is no resemblance whatever between them,” proceeded Richard.  “Their faces, their figures, are as opposite as light is from dark.  That other, in spite of his handsome features, had the expression at times of a demon, but this one’s expression is the best part of his face.  Hallijohn’s murderer had a curious look here, sir.”