paper, a lawyer's brief with some official tape-
tied papers. A case-bottle of brandy, a tumbler,
and a water-bottle, stood on the corner of the
desk. As the clock struck eight, the servant
entered and announced "a man." The man
being admitted proved very velveteeny, slightly
stably, and very bashful.

"Sit down, Lexden," said Mr. La Trappe,
pointing to a chair. "I sent for you, because I
discovered that the last time you were here you
left something behind you—"

"The devil!" burst out Mr. Lexden.

"Oh, don't fear!" said Mr. La Trappe, smiling
gently, and looking at him with a peculiar
glance, "it was only this letter! You needn't
open it; you'll find it all right."

Mr. Lexden took the letter with some misgiving;
then a light gradually dawning on him
he crumpled it softly in his palm; a responsive
crinkling of crisp enclosure fell upon his ear,
and he chuckled as he said, "All right, sir! I'm
fly!"

"Mix yourself a glass of grog, Lexden," said
Mr. La Trappe, pointing to the case-bottle.
"You've entirely left the profession, I believe?"

"Entirely, sir."

"And are leading an honest life?"

"Reg'lar slap up 'spectable mechanic," said
Lexden.

"I want a little information from you; it
can't hurt anybody, as the affair is bygone and
blown. Do you recollect the robbery of the
Dover mail?"

"/ should think so," said Lexden, grinning
very much.

"Ah!" said Mr. La Trappe. "We tried a
man named Tom Partridge for it, and he was
acquitted on an alibi. He did it, of course?"

"Of course," said Lexden.

"Ah!" said Mr. La Trappe again, with perfect
calmness; "he has a double who went into
Somerset and Devon at the same time, and
worked the oracle for him?"

"Well! How did you find that out?"

"Never mind, Lexden, how I found it
out. What I want to know is— who is the
double?"

"Tom Partridge's brother— old Sam, one
year older nor Tom, and as like him as two peas.
It was the best rig o' the sort as ever was rigged.
Old Sam had been out in Ameriky all his life,
and when he first came back, every one was
talking about his likeness to Tom; you couldn't
know 'em apart. Fiddy, the fence, thought
something might be made of this, and he
planned the whole job— the egg-hot, and the
cream, the tins, and the horse what he bought.
Tom's got that horse now, to drive in
his shay-cart on Sundays, and he calls him
'Walker.'"

"Walker!" said Mr. La Trappe; "what
does he call him Walker for?"

"Walker's a slang name for a postman,"
explained Mr. Lexden, in great delight. " Worn't
it per-rime?"

"Oh!" said Mr. La Trappe, with great
gravity, "I perceive. One more question,
Lexden; how was the robbery effected? The
interior of the portmanteau could not have
been cut unless it had been unbuckled and
the compartments thrown open, and they could
not possibly have done all that on the top
of the coach. Besides, the guard stated he
had fastened it in a very peculiar manner
at Dover, and that the fastenings were in
exactly the same state when he opened it in
London."

"Ah! That was the best game of the lot,"
said Mr. Lexden. "The job was done while the
portmanteau was in the agent's office at Dover,
and where it lay from three o'clock on Sunday
arternoon till between seven and eight in the
evening. Tom Partridge and his pal they opened
the street door with a skeleton key, there was
no one there, and they had plenty of time to
work it."

"And Tom Partridge's pal was—?"

"Ah, that I can't say," said Mr. Lexden,
looking straight into the air. "I never heard tell
o' his name."

"Thanks, Lexden, that'll do," said Mr. La
Trappe, rising. "Good night! You've done no
harm. I shall know where to find you if ever I
want you again."

About a twelvemonth afterwards, that slap
up respectable mechanic, Mr. William Lexden,
was hanged for horse-stealing. Just before his
execution he sent for Mr. La Trappe, and confessed
that he had been Tom Partridge's accomplice
in the robbery of the Dover mail. Mr.
La Trappe thanked him for the information,
but bore it like a man who could bear a
surprise.

THE UNCOMMERCIAL TRAVELLER
Is postponed to No. 235.

Now ready, bound in cloth, price 5s. 6d.,
THE NINTH VOLUME.