goodbye, and as good as told her, in plain black and
white, that he should never come back again.
Madam had been in hysterics ever since. Poor
madam! Such a kind, dear, sweet-natured lady,
too.... but there, what could one expect?
Men were such brutes.

"Not all men, my dear Mrs.Filmer," wheezed
the head clerk, tenderly reproachful.

Whereupon Mrs. Filmer tossed her head, and
believed that there wasn't so much difference
between the best and the worst, as some folks
imagined.

"There's myself, for instance," said Mr.
Keckwitch. "I abhor perfidy; I do, indeed, ma'am."

"Ah, so you say, Mr. Jennings," sighed the
housekeeper.

"I'll prove it to you, Mrs. Filmer. If you'll
get me a sight of that letter, so that I could
examine the writin' and postmark, I'll go down at
once to the City, and push inquiry in certain
quarters that I know of; and if I don't succeed
in findin' out which way your scamp of a
master's gone, I give you leave never to speak to
me again."

"Oh, Mr. Jennings, do you really mean that?"

"Mean it, ma'am? Bless you! this sort of
thing is all in my way. Many and many's the
runaway bankrupt we've caught just as he was
steppin' aboard of the steamer that was to carry
him to Boulogne or New York. Do you think
you can put your hand on the letter?"

"I think so. It was lying on the floor just
now, down by madam's bedside, and a bank-note
for five hundred pounds as well, which I picked
up and put in her purse. She didn't regard the
money, poor soul."

"Women never do," said the head clerk.
"Their little hearts are so tender."

Mrs. Filmer looked down, and sighed again.

"I'm sure yours is. I hope it is, my dear,"
added he; and, sidling a step nearer, that
respectable man actually kissed her.

About ten minutes later, Mr. Keckwitch came
out from the gates of Elton House, radiant with
triumph. He had William Trefalden's letter in
his pocket-book. It contained only these words:

"Adieu, Thérèse. Circumstances over which
I have no control compel me to leave England
—perhaps, for ever. I bid you farewell with
tender regret. Try to think of me kindly, and
believe that, if you knew all, you would not
blame me for the step which I now find myself
compelled to take. I enclose a Bank of England
note for five hundred pounds. The house,
and all that it contains, is yours. Once more,
farewell. May you be happier in the future than
I have made you in the past.
                                         " W. TREFALDEN."

CHAPTER. LXXXIV. IS IT A TRAP?

They went first of all to the office in Chancery-
lane, where they found the clerks just settling to
their work, and the housemaid blacking the
grate in William Trefalden's private room. To
put a summary stop to this damsel's proceedings,
dismiss her, lock the door, and institute a strict
but rapid investigation of all that the place
contained, was their next course. They examined
the contents of the waste-paper basket, turned
out the table-drawers, broke open the safe; but
found nothing of any value or importance.

"Look here," said Saxon, presently. "What
is this?"

It was only a crumpled envelope, the inside of
which was covered with pencilled memoranda.

Greatorex uttered a cry of triumph.

"A sketch of his route, by Heaven!" he
exclaimed. "Where did you find this?"

"On the mantelshelf here, beside the
almanack."

"Listen: 'London to Boulogne by steamer—
three A.M. Eight hours. Boulogne to Paris—
eleven A.M. Paris to Marseilles—8.40, through.
Marseilles to Algiers, nine P.M. Or
Constantinople, five P.M.'"

"Is that all?" asked Mr. Keckwitch.

"All—and he was off of course, by the early
Boulogne boat by three this morning. Eight
hours' passage—confound him! he will be landing
in half an hour; and by six or seven this evening
will be in Paris, whence he will go straight
through to Marseilles by that eight-forty
express."

"The eight-forty express reaches Marseilles at
three forty-five the following afternoon," said
Mr. Keckwitch, who had wisely provided himself
with a continental time-table.

"And the next through train from London?"
asked Greatorex.

"Half-past eight this evenin'."

The banker uttered an angry oath; but Mr.
Keckwitch only took up the envelope, and
examined it thoughtfully.

"I shall not attempt to overtake him," said
Saxon. "He has seventeen hours' start. It
would be sheer folly."

"If you would but consent to telegraph to the
police at Paris," began the banker—but Saxon
silenced him with a gesture.

"No," he said, resolutely. "Nothing shall
induce me to do that. Once for all, I will not
deal with him as with a felon."

"Gentlemen," said Mr. Keckwitch, still
examining the envelope, " I'm not sure that this
paper ain't just a trap."

"A trap?"

The head clerk nodded.

"He's such a clever chap," said he. "Too
clever by half to commit a blunder of this sort.
I no more believe he's gone by that Boulogne
boat, than I believe he's gone to Paradise."

"Where, then, do you suppose he is gone?"
said the banker, impatiently.

"Likely enough that he ain't left London at
all. And, somehow or another, I have my
doubts...."

"Doubts of what?"

Mr. Keckwitch rubbed his fat hands over and
over, and wagged his head knowingly before
replying.