After a time the rumors connecting his name with Roger's death reached my ears, but I paid no heed to them, believing them to have been made of whole cloth, for I did not know that he had been present when the crime was committed.
But one day my cousin's actions and words set me thinking.
Roger was only a tanner; therefore after a deal of stir in the matter of his death with no result more tangible than vague insinuations from Crofts and his friends, the investigation by the London authorities was dropped, at least for a time.

Roger's tragedy was forgotten or was put aside, save in so far as it was kept alive by Crofts, who felt that it was well to keep the person of George Hamilton as a fender between himself and the crime.
So, as frequently happens when a bad man turns good, Hamilton's troubles began to gather and were awaiting his return.

I did not know where he was (though I afterwards learned he was in Paris), and therefore was unable to warn him.

In fact, I knew little that was worth telling him at the time of which I am writing, since I did not believe he was really in danger.

I did not even know that he was aware of the Roger Wentworth tragedy.
Meantime Frances was making progress at court, of which even I, with all my hopefulness, had little dreamed.