"
"Who is 'Pike'?"
"It's hard to say, sir; a many would give a deal to know. He lay in the
shed a bit at first, as it were, all open. Then he boarded up that front
doorway, opened a door at the back, cut out a square hole for a window,
and stuck that chimney in the roof. And there he's lived ever since, and
nobody interferes with him. His name's Pike, and that's all that's known.
I should think my lord will see to it when he comes."
"Does he work for his living?"
"Never does a stroke o' work for nobody, sir. And how he lives is just
one o' them mysteries that can't be dived into. He's a poacher, a snarer,
and a robber of the fishponds--any one of 'em when he gets the chance;
leastways it's said so; and he looks just like a wild man o' the woods;
wilder than any Robison Crusoe! And he--but you might not like me to
mention that, sir."
"Mention anything," replied Mr. Elster. "Go on."
"Well, sir, it's said by some that his was the shot that killed Mr.
George," she returned, dropping her voice; and Percival Elster started.
"Who is he?" he exclaimed.
"He is not known to a soul. He came here a stranger."
"But--he was not here when I left home. And I left it, you may remember,
only a few days before that night."
"He must have come here at that very time, sir; just as you left."
"But what grounds were there for supposing that he--that he--I think you
must be mistaken, Mrs.
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