"Very well, sir, I am dumb," replied the manager, taking up his hat to
leave the house.

"Do you go back to North End by the night train?" inquired Mr.
Rockharrt.

"Yes, sir! I must be at my post to-morrow morning, in order to carry out
your instructions."

"Quite right," said the head of the great firm. Then with strange
inconsistency, since he had declared that he wished to talk no more on
the subject of the lost governor, he suddenly inquired:

"What do the people of North End say about the disappearance of Governor
Rothsay?"

"Some say he was beguiled away by that man who called on him late at
night, and that he was murdered and his body made away with. But I beg
your pardon, sir, for repeating such dreadful things."

"Go on! What else do they say?"

"Well, sir, one says one thing, and one another; but they all agree that
Old Scythia could tell something if she chose."

"Old Scythia? And what has she to do with the loss of the governor?"

"Nothing that I know of, sir. But the people at North End say that she
has."