deal over the dishes, laughed at our jokes,
and stumbled over piles of plates in the hall.
The dance went off pleasantly—some nice girls
from Bybridge floated about in white muslin
—Brancher was tremendous in the quadrilles:
being a portly conspicuous sort of whiskery
man, he always danced with the smallest and
youngest lady, and flirted unconscionably, to his
own and everybody's delight. I was the last
to leave; Lucy and the children had gone
early. Brancher and I lingered over the end of
a bottle of specially good dry sherry.

"By-the-by, Gregson," said he, as I took
up my Gibus to go, "you have never seen my
library yet; it is a small collection, and on a
special subject, but it is curious and valuable."

I followed him into a little room leading out
of the library. He opened two cases. To my
surprise, the books were legal books. Thieves'
Tricks, Old Bailey Trials, and Newgate Calendars.

"Not my style," I said.

"Ha! but you know I am an old judge, and
have devoted much thought to these matters."

"By-the-by," said I, "before I go, let us
arrange a croquet match for the children to-
morrow—it is a public holiday."

"Most unfortunate," he replied, "but I start
to-morrow to spend three days at Derby."

The next time I met Brancher, was on the
top of a Balham-hill omnibus. He was both
surprised and pleased to meet me. He grew very
chatty about the tricks of thieves in the olden
times. He explained to me "ring-dropping,"
"chop-chain," "card-sharping," and other mysteries.

"Did you ever devote much time, sir, to
cipher?" asked somebody on the roof.

"I know thirty-two kinds," said Brancher,
laughing; "and I flatter myself that there is no
advertisement in the second column of the Times
for a whole year which I couldn't decipher in
forty minutes."

"Why, Brancher," said I, "what a detective
you would make!"

"I think I should," he said, with a smile,
"but here's my corner—good-by. Shall see you
again on Friday. Kind regards to Mrs. Gregson.
Love at home. By, by!"

That was Monday. On Tuesday I received
a telegraph from Doncaster to say that my
brother was dangerously ill of pleurisy. His life
was on the balance—would I come.

He was a sporting man was my brother
George. He had been taken ill during the race-
week. He was lying at the chief hotel. I made
up my mind in a moment, packed up a small
valise, and drove straight to Euston-square.

When I reached Doncaster, late in the evening,
I found that my brother was better, and had
started for Scarborough. I resolved not to
follow him, but to spend the night at Doncaster,
go the next day to the races, as I was on the
spot, and return on the Thursday. Rather
tired of the noisy betting-men who filled the
hotel, I supped and went to bed early.

It was just at daybreak that I awoke. The
blinds were down, and the dim grey light
just sufficed to make the blinds semi-transparent,
and show me where the windows were.
There was the looking-glass rising dark against
the window to the left, the window furthest from
my bed. There were my clothes lying on a chair,
looking like a rough sketch of myself. I tried
to get to sleep again, but could not. There was
no one stirring in the house (a distant door
opening was nothing), but my mind was
anxious, and I could not decoy myself back again
to sleep.

A slight "fistling" noise at the door roused me
still more completely. It was evidently some
one trying the lock. I lay still, thinking it
was the Boots come to fetch my clothes to
brush. Next moment the door gently opened,
and a man entered on tiptoe. He was bare-
foot, as I could see with one eye over the bed-
clothes, and was too well dressed to be the
Boots. He must be a thief, I thought, and I
watched.

The man advanced, with a velvet tread like
the tread of a cat, to the chair where my clothes
were, and taking up first my coat and then my
trousers, felt the pockets; luckily, I had my
purse under my pillow. He then stepped to
the dressing-table, and quietly slipped my watch
into his pocket. I could not see the fellow's
face, for he wore a flat fur travelling cap with
loose pendent ear-flaps that hid his features.

I could not summon up philosophy enough to
bear the abduction of my gold repeater in
silence, so I turned in my bed, coughed loudly,
and groaned and yawned as if I had just
awoke.

The man started, dropped my watch, and
stammering out something about "Come for
your boots, sir!" with a drunken gait evidently
affected, made for the door.

I don't know what impulse it was that made
me run to the window and not to the door. I
didn't seize the rogue, but I ran to the window,
and pulled up the blind so as to let in a stream
of cold light upon the man's face.

Could I believe my eyes? The thief was
Brancher. We both fell back like two duellists
who had exchanged mortal shots.

"Brancher!"

"Gregson!" He gave me a ghastly look,
and fled, slamming the door behind him swiftly,
but with practised dexterity, for it shut without
a sound.

I returned to London next day, pondering
over the strange event. I could find no clue to
Brancher's fall. He could not be a practised
thief; yet it was impossible that he could at
once have plunged into crime. I thought of his
wife and children, and of his pleasant home.

A few hours brought me to Bybridge. Lucy
received me with rather a sad face.

"Arthur," she said, "dear Mrs. Brancher
is in such trouble! Her husband has written to
her from somewhere in the North, to sell
everything directly, let the house, and join him at
Liverpool. Do go in and comfort her."

I went into Willow Cottage, and found Mrs.