himself even during the exertion of opening
ami shutting the cases, he leaned on a large
round ivory-topped cane adorned with two black
tassels, The accent of Mr. Schutz was decidedly
foreign; his voice to the last degree feeble and
languid. The only gesture that implied vivacity
was turning suddenly sharp round to either
window of the coach, as if nervously suspicious
and distrustful of loitering thieves.

"What could an eccentric old foreign chaplain,
on the very edge of the grave, want with
those lustrous precious stones that sparkled
and shot out rainbow rays from their velvet-
lined shagreen cases? Mr. Schutz bought the
diamonds at last, without, much higgling — he
had not strength enough for that — at about five
thousand pounds. He was going immediately
into the City to purchase stock; the next
day, between twelve and one, he would call for
the diamonds and pay for them in bank-notes.

For those jewels Mr. Schutz never came.
At the hour appointed, Sir Sampson Wright
(the magistrate) and several other gentlemen
waited on the expectant diamond-merchant in
Lincoln's Inn-fields, told him that Mr. Schutz
was a swindler, and that two Bow-street officers
were then waiting for him at the shoe-shop in
Swallow-street. Acute and eager were the
dogs; but craftier was the fox. Mr. Schutz was
seen no more. The diamonds were saved, but
the rogue, a well-known forger, had flown.

At that very time, Mr. Pearson, a king's
messenger, was sent post haste with despatches
to Lord North, who was then at Dover. On
arriving at Dartford, Mr. Pearson, much to his
vexation, found the only pair of horses had just
been ordered out by an old gentleman who was
travelling on important business, and seemed in
a great hurry. Determined to press forward
and to have the horses, Mr. Pearson displayed
his badge — the silver greyhound — sending the
waiter to apologise for the arbitrary seizure, and
to offer the old gentleman in the hurry a seat
in his chaise as far as Sittingbourne. The offer
was accepted. Mr. Pearson's companion had
among his luggage a large green tea-canister
secured by a padlock. It was very heavy, but he
kept it at his feet, and would never let the hand of
ostler or waiter touch it. Between Rochester and
Sittingbourne the road was, however, rough, and
the chaise jolted so violently that down went the
green tea-canister, and out tumbled — not tea,
but a flood of golden guineas, at which the king's
messenger stared, secretly wondered, but said
nothing.

On his return to town, Mr. Pearson found
handbills in circulation offering rewards from
the Bank of England for the apprehension of
an old forger named Schutz. Wo doubt that
Schutz and the old gentleman with the green
tea-canister full of guineas were one and the
same. He at once informed the secretary of
state, who told Sir Sampson Wright; the
solicitor of the Bank of England, with witnesses
and officers, were at once sent to follow Schutz,
the forger, to Calais, carrying credentials from the
secretary of state to the minister of France,
requesting the surrender of the delinquent.
At Calais, a Mr. Price, who had bern formerly a
partner in a brewery with Samuel Foote, the
actor generously offered his services to the
officers to watch Schutz till the lieutenant of
police could hear from Paris.

Foiled again! Schutz proved by no means
to be Schutz, but a man belonging to the Perth
Custom House, who had embezzled stores, and
turned them into ready money. The rascal
escaped by pleading that he "had fled from
Edinburgh, having been detected there secretly
buying stores for the American and Dutch
governments, and was discharged.

Soon after this occurrence, a man of
business stopped a London merchant one day
on 'Change, and presented him with a letter
from an Amsterdam correspondent of the
house, mentioning that he had been recently
defrauded of one thousand pounds by a rascal
named Trevors, who frequented the London
'Change, and requesting his aid to recover
part or the whole. The friend volunteered
his advice as to how the trap was to be best
laid and baited for the infamous Trevors, who
might even then be watching them from some
side-walk. The friend had the mind of a
general; he had planned everything:

"To-morrow, sir," he said, "he will most
likely be upon 'Change, in the Dutch walk.
He dresses in a red surtout and a white wig.
He wears square-toed shoes with small buckles,
and the rest of his dress is as plain as a Quaker's.
Your best way will be to accost him, and get
into conversation about the commerce of
Amsterdam. Pretend the dog can be of service to
you, and ask him home to dinner. When the
cloth is gone, break the business, show him the
Dutch letter I brought over, and inform him
that, unless he instantly refunds the whole or
part of the money, you will on the morrow
expose the matter to the principal City merchants.
In this way I don't doubt that you'll get back
part at least, as I know he is rich, always carries
cash or notes about with him, and would rather
pay than be exposed."

Mr. E. was delighted to snap a rogue and
oblige his friend at the same time. Honest men
sometimes enjoy thief-catching with a keen
relish. Mr. E. took the advice of his shrewd
friend, met the man described in the place
expected, and led him home to dinner, rejoicing in
the quiet capture. To offer him the best cut
of the joint, to press him to the oldest wine,
was delicious. It was to realise the boy's
pleasure when he watches a live rat inside the
trap. The cloth removed, Mr. E. made, with
infinite complacency, the agreed signal to his wife
and the ladies; they at once rose and
retired. Then Mr. E. began to gripe his man
closer, and to threaten a ruinous exposure.

The swindler in the red surtout and white
wig did not make much fight. The wine stood
in his glass unfinished, the fruit untasted. He
seemed overwhelmed with fear, and prostrate
with remorse. He begged not to be exposed on
'Change, he offered five hundred pounds down