seemed scarcely worth while to contradict those who seemed certain that he was guilty.

"Ho, but y' did," cried Mrs. Narby, shriller than ever. "Y' wos a pore tramp with no money, and thet gent--Sir Simon es y' calls 'im--hed 'eaps an' 'eaps."

Trent looked up quickly.

"How do you know that?"

"I took in 'is tea," said Mrs. Narby, nodding vigorously, "an' Pope, me son, took in th' toast which the gent ate. He wos settin' at thet there table, with a 'eap of notes an' gold beside 'im, and a big morrocker pocket-book, int' which he shovelled the money wen he saw Pope an' me come in. Look fur the blue pocket-book, Mr. Policeman, an' if it's gorn, it's that there cove," she again pointed to Herries, who again shook his head, "as 'ave it."

"You can search me," said the accused man, opening his arms.

Trent took him at his word, and ran his hand down the young man's sides. But nothing could be found. He then marched him and the landlady upstairs and into the bedroom. Herries, with his hands in his pockets, sat wearily by the window, while Trent examined the room, aided by Mrs. Narby. The lady was extremely active. She pulled the clothes from the bed, removed the wardrobe from against the wall, and wrenched up the carpet, but all to no purpose. Then while Trent looked up the chimney, Mrs. Narby, with surprising activity, scrambled under the bed. She emerged in a minute or so, with a smothered exclamation, covered with grime and fluff, and held in her large hand a blue pocket-book of morocco.

"The money!" cried Trent, darting towards her.

Mrs. Narby shook out the pocket-book triumphantly,--

"Empty," she cried vindictively, "he's the thief an' assassing!" and she flung the book at Herries' head.

 

 

 

 

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