About this time,—namely, in November, 1703— while young Trenchard was in Lancashire, and his sister in London, on a visit, he received a certain communication from his confidential servant, Davies, which, at once, destroyed his hopes. "Sir Rowland is murdered!" cried Jack, as soon as he could find a tongue. A slow anger burned in the man. You jumped, and I think that you left me. "I'm afraid, Jack, you'll come to the gallows," observed the smith; "buth if you do, I'll go to Tyburn to see you. “Let’s hope your successor is worthy of you. ‘I must get a handkerchief. Clement's church. " Nor was this all. But, Gerald, do you believe there is a secret passage indeed?’ ‘Well, we covered every inch of the house and grounds, and I swear she never left that room by way of the door. We fetched the doctor and the police. Conceiving himself called upon, as the intimate friend of the deceased, to pay this last tribute of respect to her memory, he appeared as one of the chief mourners.
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