nature, for however irrelevant to the matter in hand an episode may
seem to be, not infrequently I have found that it is by the pursuit of
such chance clews that one is led to the very piece of news that is
sought.

"Drink up, gentlemen," I said, "and as the night draws on, we shall
just have time for a peg of whisky before ten o'clock."

My effort proved successful, for whilst Martin prepared the ordered
drinks, almost with alacrity, Hawkins became quite confidential.

"Young Mr. Edward Hines that was, sir," he confided, in a church
whisper. "His father is the biggest farmer round these parts and young
Mr. Edward is a terror with the gals, he is. Mind you, he's straight
out about it. Comes in here, he do, and says straight out who he's
after. And it's woe betide the one who takes him up on it. I'm glad my
gal is up to London, with that Mr. Edward about, I am."

The drinks being placed upon the counter, he ceased, and:

"Good health!" said I; then: "Yes--about our mutilated young friend?"
I prompted.

"Well," continued Hawkins--"it's kind o' funny, ain't it, Martin?"

The landlord growled.

"Mr. Edward he come in here three weeks back all puffed up with
himself. Said he'd got an appointment with a lady down from London
what was coming all the way from West Wingham to see him. Didn't he,