and, after much preliminary chirruping, came
down and hopped familiarly in the path of the
watchers. Presently a sweep went by with his
brushes over his shoulder, and was followed by
three or four labourers, going to their work in
the neighbouring cabbage-gardens. Then a cart
rumbled along the High-street; then three or four
in succession; and after that the tide of wheels set
fairly in, and never ceased. By-and-by, when the
policeman at the corner had almost grown tired
of keeping his eye upon them, and the young
men themselves had begun to weary of this fruitless
tramping to and fro, they were unexpectedly
joined by Mr. Keckwitch.

"Beg your pardon, gentlemen," said he, "but
I thought I'd best come over. Two heads, you
know, are better than one, and maybe three are
better than two. Anyhow, here I am."

Whereupon the head clerk, who was quite out
of breath from fast walking, took off his hat and
dabbed his forehead with his blue cotton pocket-
handkerchief. Respectable as he was, Saxon
regarded the man with inexpressible aversion.
To him, Mr. Abel Keckwitch was simply a spy
and an informer; and spies and informers, according
to Saxon's creed, scarcely came within the
pale of humanity.

"Of course, gentlemen, you've seen nothin' as
yet," pursued the head clerk, when he had
recovered breath. "Not likely. About eight
o'clock, or from eight to half-past, will be about
the time to look out. Most of the expresses
start towards nine, you see, and he's safe to be
off by one of 'em. Now, I've got a cab waitin'
round the corner, and all we shall have to do will
be to watch him out of the house, jump in, and
follow."

"Keckwitch thinks of everything," said
Greatorex, approvingly.

"The main question is, where's he a-goin' to?
I say America."

"America, of course."

"Well, then, you see he might start from the
London Docks, or Southampton, or Glasgow, or
Liverpool; but most likely Liverpool. Now,
there ain't no boat either to-day or to-morrow
from either of those ports—that I've ascertained;
but then he's safe to get away somehow, and
keep quiet till the chance turns up. He might
catch up the Liverpool boat, you know, at
Kingstown, or the Southampton boat at Havre. In
short, we must be prepared for him everywhere,
and keep our eyes open all round."

"Yours seem all right, Keckwitch, at any
rate," said the banker.

"Well, sir, I ain't closed 'em for one half
minute since you were at Pentonville," replied
Mr. Keckwitch, complacently. "One needs to
be especial watchful, having no professionals to
help us forward."

At this moment the church clock began striking
eight, and the postman made his appearance
at the upper end of Slade's-lane. The head
clerk at once disengaged himself from the group,
and, desiring his fellow-watchers to keep aloof,
began sauntering up and down, within a few
yards of the gates of Elton House. Presently
the postman crossed over, letters in hand, and
rang the gate bell. Mr. Keckwitch was at his
elbow in a moment.

"Can you tell me, postman," said he, blandly,
"if there's any party of the name of Henley
residin' in this street?"

"Henley?" repeated the letter-carrier. "No,
not that I know of. There's a Henry in Silver-
street, if that's what you mean."

But that was not at all what Mr. Keckwitch
meant. Mr. Keckwitch only meant to read the
address upon the letter in the postman's hand,
and having done so hastened back to Saxon
and Greatorex at the bottom of the street.

"By the Lord, gentlemen," he exclaimed,
striking his clenched fist against his open palm,
"he's off!"

"Off!" repeated Saxon and Greatorex, in one
breath.

"Ay. I saw his writin' on the envelope.
It's one of our office envelopes, and has been
posted in a pillar-box overnight. He's off, and
we might dodge about here till doomsday for
all the good we could do by it."

"He has secured two hours' start, too, curse
him," said Greatorex, fiercely.

"Curse him, with all my heart," echoed the
head clerk, fervently.

CHAPTER LXXXIII. A TENDER EPISODE.

Mr. Keckwitch rang boldly at the gate of
Elton House, and requested to see Mrs. Filmer.
Mrs. Filmer was Madame Duvernay's serious
housekeeper. The head clerk, for prudential
reasons, had never ventured to call upon her
before; but the time for prudence was now gone
by, and the time for boldness was come.

There was an air of flurry and confusion about
the place, which Mr. Keckwitch detected as soon
as he set foot across madame's threshold. The
servant who admitted him had a scared look upon
her face, and, having shown him to the door of
the housekeeper's room, scampered away again
as fast as her legs could carry her. Presently a
bell was rung violently up-stairs, and was
followed by a sound of running feet and rustling
skirts along the passage. Then came an interval
of dead silence, and by-and-by Mrs. Filmer
made her appearance with her handkerchief to
her eyes.

"Oh, Mr. Jennings," she said, "you come at
a sad moment, sir. We are in terrible trouble
here this morning."

The head clerk, who had introduced himself to
Mrs. Filmer in one of those church-going
conversations by the unassuming name of Jennings,
here pressed the housekeeper's hand in both of his
own, and replied that he was sorry for anything
which made her unhappy.

Mrs. Filmer then went on to say that madam
had just received the cruelest letter from master.
Master had actually gone away, nobody
knew where, without even bidding madam