CHAPTER XXIX.
ALL IN ORDER So that we might have it to ourselves, we had returned from Newcastle to Berwick in a first-class compartment, and in its privacy Mr.Lindsey had told Mr.Portlethorpe the whole of the Smeaton story.

Mr.Portlethorpe had listened--so it seemed to me--with a good deal of irritation and impatience; he was clearly one of those people who do not like interference with what they regard as an established order of things, and it evidently irked him to have any questions raised as to the Carstairs affairs--which, of course, he himself had done much to settle when Sir Gilbert succeeded to the title.

In his opinion, the whole thing was cut, dried, and done with, and he was still impatient and restive when Mr.
Lindsey laid before him the letter which Mr.Gavin Smeaton had lent us, and invited him to look carefully at the handwriting.

He made no proper response to that invitation; what he did was to give a peevish glance at the letter, and then push it aside, with an equally peevish exclamation.
"What of it ?" he said.

"It conveys nothing to me!" "Take your time, Portlethorpe," remonstrated Mr.Lindsey, who was unlocking a drawer in his desk.