no doubt, a tiresome ride. In the middle of Threadneedle Street, the gentlemanly young man suddenly stopped the cab and got out, leaving the clerk to pay the cabman.

"Somehow or other, the story brought back Joseph to my mind. I seemed to see him as that well-dressed gentlemanly young man; and, raising my eyes from the paper, there he stood before me. He had scarcely changed at all since I last saw him, except that he had grown better looking, and seemed more cheerful. He nodded to me as though we had parted the day before, and ordered a chop and a small hock. I spread a fresh serviette for him, and asked him if he cared to see the paper.

"'Anything interesting in it, Henry?' says he.

"'Rather a daring robbery committed on the Westminster Bank yesterday,' I answers.

"'Oh, ah! I did see something about that,' says he.

"'The thief was described as a well-dressed young man of gentlemanly appearance, wearing a black beard and moustache,' says I.

"He laughs pleasantly.

"'That will make it awkward for nice young men with black beards and moustaches,' says he.

"'Yes,' I says. 'Fortunately for you and me, we're clean shaved.'

"I felt as certain he was the man as though I'd seen him do it.

"He gives me a sharp glance, but I was busy with the cruets, and he had to make what he chose out of it.

"'Yes,' he replies, 'as you say, it was a daring robbery. But the man seems to have got away all right.'

"I could see he was dying to talk to somebody about it.

"'He's all right to-day,' says I; 'but the police ain't the fools they're reckoned. I've noticed they generally get there in the end.'

"'There's some very intelligent men among them,' says he: 'no question of it. I shouldn't be surprised if they had a clue!'

"'No,' I says, 'no more should I; though no doubt he's telling himself there never was such a clever thief.'

"'Well, we shall see,' says he.

"'That's about it,' says I.

"We talked a bit about old acquaintances and other things, and then, having finished, he handed me a sovereign and rose to go.

"'Wait a minute,' I says, 'your bill comes to three-and-eight. Say fourpence for the waiter; that leaves sixteen shillings change, which I'll ask you to put in your pocket.'

"'As you will,' he says, laughing, though I could see he didn't like it.

"'And one other thing,' says I. 'We've been sort of pals, and it's not my business to talk unless I'm spoken to. But I'm a married man,' I says, 'and I don't consider you the sort worth getting into trouble for. If I never see you, I know nothing about you. Understand?'

"He took my tip, and I didn't see him again at that restaurant. I kept my eye on the paper, but the Westminster Bank thief was never discovered, and success, no doubt, gave him confidence. Anyhow, I read of two or three burglaries that winter which I unhesitatingly put down to Mr. Joseph—I suppose there's style in housebreaking, as in other things—and early the next spring an exciting bit of business occurred, which I knew to be his work by the description of the man.

"He had broken into a big country house during the servants' supper-hour, and had stuffed his pockets with jewels. One of the guests, a young officer, coming upstairs, interrupted him just as he had finished. Joseph threatened the man with his revolver; but this time it was not a nervous young clerk he had to deal with. The man sprang at him, and a desperate struggle followed, with the result that in the end the officer was left with a bullet in his leg, while Joseph jumped clean through the window, and fell thirty feet. Cut and bleeding, if not broken, he would never have got away but that, fortunately for him, a tradesman's cart happened to be standing at the servants' entrance. Joe was in it, and off like a flash of greased lightning. How he managed to escape, with all the country in an uproar, I can't tell you; but he did it. The horse and cart, when found sixteen miles off, were neither worth much.

"That, it seems, sobered him down for a bit, and nobody heard any more of him till nine months later, when he walked into the Monico, where I was then working, and held out his hand to me as bold as brass.

"'It's all right,' says he, 'it's the hand of an honest man.'

"'It's come into your possession very recently then,' says I.

"He was dressed in a black frock-coat and wore whiskers. If I hadn't known him, I should have put him down for a parson out of work.

"He laughs. 'I'll tell you all about it,' he says.

"'Not here,' I answers, 'because I'm too busy; but if you like to meet me this evening, and you're talking straight—'

"'Straight as a bullet,' says he. 'Come and have a bit of dinner with me at the Craven; it's quiet there, and we can talk. I've been looking for you for the last week.'

"Well, I met him; and he told me. It was the old story: a gal was at the bottom of it. He had broken into a small house at Hampstead. He was on the floor, packing up the silver, when the door opens, and he sees a gal standing there. She held a candle in one hand and a revolver in the other.