"Stop a bit," says Mr. Davager; " Suppose
I should not be the greenest fool that
ever stood in shoes? Suppose I should
not carry the letter about me? Suppose
I should have given a certain envelope
to a certain friend of mine in a certain place
in this town? Suppose the letter should be
inside that envelope, directed to old Gatliffe,
side by side with a copy of the letter, directed
to the editor of the local paper? Suppose
my friend should be instructed to open the
envelope, and take the letters to their right
addressed, if I don't appear to claim them
from him this evening? In short, my dear
sir, suppose you were born yesterday, and
suppose I wasn't? " —says Mr. Davager, and
winks at me again.

He didn't take me by surprise, for I never
expected that he had the letter about him.
I made a pretence of being very much taken
aback, and of being quite ready to give in. We
settled our business about delivering the letter
and handing over the money, in no time.
I was to draw out a document, which he was
to sign. He knew the document was stuff
and nonsense just as well as I did; and told
me I was only proposing it to swell my
client's bill. Sharp as he was, he was wrong
there. The document was not to be drawn out
to gain money from. Mr. Frank, but to gain
time from Mr. Davager. It served me as an
excuse to put off the payment of the five hundred
pounds till three o'clock on the Tuesday
afternoon. The Tuesday morning Mr. Davager
said he should devote to his amusement,
and asked me what sights were to be seen in
the neighbourhood of the town. When I
had told him, he pitched his toothpick into
my grate—yawned—and went out.

I rang the bell once; waited till he had
passed the window; and then looked after
Tom. There was my jewel of a boy on the
opposite side of the street, just setting his
top going in the most playful manner possible.
Mr. Davager walked away up the
street, towards the market-place. Tom
whipped his top up the street towards the
market-place too.

In a quarter of an hour he came back,
with all his evidence collected in a beautifully
clear and compact state. Mr. Davager
had walked to a public-house, just outside
the town, in a lane leading to the high road.
On a bench outside the public-house there
sat a man smoking. He said " All right?"
and gave a letter to Mr. Davager, who
answered " All right," and walked back to
the inn. In the hall he ordered hot rum and
water, cigars, slippers, and a fire to be lit in
his room. After that, he went up stairs, and
Tom came away.

I now saw my road clear before me—not
very far on, but still clear. I had housed
the letter, in all probability for that night,
at the Gatliffe Arms. After tipping Tom, I
gave him directions to play about the door
of the inn, and refresh himself, when he was
tired, at the tart-shop opposite—eating as
much us he pleased, on the understanding
that he crammed all the time with his eye
on the window. If Mr. Davager went out,
or Mr.Davager's friend called on him, Tom was
to let me know. He was also to take a little
note from me to the head chambermaid—an
old friend of mine—asking her to step over
to my office, on a private matter of business,
as soon as her work was done for that night.
After settling these little matters, having
half an hour to spare, I turned to and did
myself a bloater at the office-fire, and had a
drop of gin and water hot, and felt comparatively
happy.

When the head chambermaid came, it
turned out, as good. luck would have it, that
Mr. Davager had offended her. I no sooner
mentioned him than she flew into a passion;
and when I added, by way of clinching the
matter, that I was retained to defend the
interests of a very beautiful and deserving
young lady (name not referred to, of course)
against the most cruel underhand treachery
on the part of Mr. Davager, the head chambermaid
was ready to go any lengths that she
could safely to serve my cause. In few words,
I discovered that Boots was to call Mr. Davager
at eight the next morning, and was to
take his clothes downstairs to brush as usual.
If Mr. D. had not emptied his own pockets
overnight, we arranged that Boots was to
forget to empty them for him, and was to
bring the clothes downstairs just as he found
them. If Mr. D.'s pockets were emptied,
then, of course, it would be necessary to
transfer the searching process to Mr. D.'s
room. Under any circumstances, I was certain
of the head chambermaid; and under
any circumstances also, the head chambermaid
was certain of Boots.

I waited till Tom came home, looking very
puffy and bilious about the face; but as to
his intellects, if anything, rather sharper than
ever. His report was uncommonly short and
pleasant. The inn was shutting up; Mr.
Davager was going to bed in rather a drunken
condition; Mr. Davager's friend had never
appeared. I sent Tom (properly instructed
about keeping our man in view all the next
morning) to his shake-down behind the office
desk, where I heard him hiccupping half the
night, as boys will, when over-excited and too
full of tarts.

At half-past seven next morning, I slipped
quietly into Boots's pantry. Down came the
clothes. No pockets in trousers. Waistcoat
pockets empty. Coat pockets with something
in them. First, handkerchief; secondly, bunch
of keys; thirdly, cigar-case; fourthly, pocket-
book. Of course I wasn't such a fool as to
expect to find the letter there; but I opened
the pocket-book with a certain curiosity, not-
withstanding.

Nothing in the two pockets of the book
but some old advertisements cut out of newspapers,
a lock of hair tied round with a dirty