"Poor old people!" he said. "I dare say they were not very well off."

"That's the plague of it," said Old Daylight. "The old woman died first, and the old man died soon afterwards; and, to my utter astonishment, I, who had starved myself to keep them and make them comfortable, found that the old dad had left me about five hundred a-year-an old brute ! ”

"What! for leaving you his fortune? You are eccentric." "Not for that only," said the old man, sadly, "but for wasting my youth. When he died, I was thirty-eight or so. My love was dead. I had lost all generous enthusiasm, all hope. I gave up business, funded my money, and should have died of melancholy, save that I took to a hobby, and that was thiefcatching and crime-watching. When I was a silversmith, I never had a week pass but some constable was inquiring at my shop after a thief, or bringing me a stolen spoon to identify through its engraved crest; or else some thief or another would make a plant on me to rob me. I saw how clumsily the matter was done, and I began to read about crime. I found that almost all thief-takers, from Jonathan Wild downwards, were fools."

"He had a great reputation," said Mr Horton.

"Yes, he had; but he got it by a dodge," said Old Daylight. "He used to put some poor wretch up to commit a robbery, and others to watch him. He was then down upon them, and people wondered. Ah! you don't know how little cleverness there is in the world. It's beat out thin, like gold leaf, sir,a very little goes a far way. In the course of my readingcriminal trials, the State trials, loads of law books, and other matters-I got interested in crime; and reading in the newspapers one day of a very puzzling one, I put myself on the scent, by the aid of a friendly runner-I can see his red waistcoat and blue coat now-and brought the criminal before Sir Richard Birnie, while some fellows in the constabulary were dreaming about the matter. That gained me a good deal of applause, and gave me a new lease of life. Old Foxey-that was the celebrated Leadbetter, sir-was nearly dead with jealousy; but I must do him the justice to say that he was the first to own that it was a very neat job-very neat indeed.

Afterwards I got attached to the office in certain cases. I was a privileged person. I never take money for my work, and spend a good deal on it; but then it gives me occupation and life, sir life."

"You live in a fashionable quarter, Mr Forster. Did I not hear you say Queen Anne Street?”

Yes, I bought a house cheap there, sir; and I was lucky enough to find a very pearl of a lodger-or, rather, two. Mr Edgar Wade will, sir, I hope, some day be King's Counsel, sir, and write K.C. after his name. He's rising, sir-rising; and he's a mere baby-only thirty, sir; and that, as you know, is a baby at law."

"Ours is, indeed, a very slow profession," said the magistrate, "slow to rise in ; but it offers great rewards."

"Very great, indeed. It's one that I could have loved," said the old man. "To have been a limb of the law would have Poor human nature, she must have something to tickle her fancy."

been my delight.

"Are we on the right track, now, about this Madame Martin?" asked Mr Horton, after a pause.

"I don't know. Why, here we are at Vere Street; we shall soon be at your door. There may be something in that Dutch sailor. He may have been the pilot-fish to the shark; but we will see to-morrow. I will go home, and sleep upon it." And away the old boy trotted, when the cab stopped, after Mr Horton assuring him that he would be at his (Mr Forster's) disposal at any hour of the day or night, in reference to this

case.

Mr Horton paid the cab, and went home, thinking of the dead woman. Mr Sam Smiles, the cabman, drove to a publichouse, where he met with a reporter of some newspaper, and a few choice spirits, to whom he retailed his adventures; and told them, moreover, that the magistrate and all the police officers had taken him (Sam Smiles) into their confidence, and that he had put them on to the scent, which, however, he was wise enough to decline to point out.

"I gave Muster Barnett, the literary gent here, the office as I drove up this morning," said Sam, triumphantly; "and I dare say he's known what to do with it."

"Pretty well," said Barnett Slammers, a dissipated-looking "The Evening Meal, sir, will tell you the tale; and a very pretty little story I have made of it. Here it is."

man.

"And as nice a paragraph as I have ever seen turned out, Slammy, my boy," hiccupped another reporter. "Your health, Barnett."

Here one of the choice spirits of the parlour read out

"Horrible murder! This morning, the peaceful and rural neighbourhood of Kensal-Green was thrown into the utmost state of consternation and alarm by the heart-rending discovery of the successful perpetration of a cruel and diabolical murder on the body of a beautiful female in the meridian rays of existAwakened to the utmost vigilance by a watchful though unpaid guardian of the public peace'"

ence.

"That's you, Sammy," interpolated Mr Slammers. "The active and intelligent members '"

"That's a happy com-com-combination, Barnett," hiccupped the other reporter.

"That'll live, Slammers. Active and intelligent!' Dash my buttons! Shakespeare could not have done better."

"Active and intelligent members of the New Police Force," continued the reader, "were immediately on the spot. Inspector Stevenson proceeded thither, to peaceful and rural Kensal-Green, with his myrmidons

"What's that?" said Sam the cabman. 66 Gaiters, or something to eat?"

"Classics, by Jingo!" cried the admirer of Mr Slammers. "Dash it! what a neat way he has. Byronic, sir-by Gad, sir, quite Byronic!"

"And there found the victim of this unparalleled and outrageous brutality lying in her disrupted home, soaking in her gore. Acacia Villa, the name of the house, will henceforth become celebrated in that ghastly and crimson-stained record, the annals of crime. It was ascertained that the name of the victim is Estelle Martin, a lady of modest but of sufficient means, and of French extraction, if not of French birth. We have despatched an efficient and highly intelligent reporter to the spot, notwithstanding the distance; and we hope tomorrow to put our readers in full possession of the latest par

ticulars of this extraordinary crime, which promises to equal in interest that of the Red Barn. The victims, it is curious to observe, have both the same surname. Estelle Martin, however, was of mature age, though still in fullest vigour, while Maria was but young. The present victim had her head nearly severed from her body.'

"Come, now, that's wonderful," said Sam; "and all out of about five words as I told him; but, as far as I hears, she was stabbed in the back."

"What matters, Barnett-what matters? The woman was dead-that's enough."

"Quite enough," said the literary gentleman.

And taking out his duplicating paper, now and then called flimsy, he headed the paper, "The Kensal-Green Tragedy.— Further and astounding particulars!" And having called for brandy and water for Samuel Smiles, and a glassful of the same mahogany-coloured fluid for himself, he sat down to listen to particulars from the driver of the yellow-bodied cab.

In the meantime, Daylight had reached his home; and entered, after knocking a peculiar and well-known knock. He was answered by his cook and housekeeper, a portly and inquisitive person, who received him with, "Where have you been, sir, all day long?" in a tone which plainly proved that she was not in the best of tempers; for dinner had been spoiled, and that was not an unusual thing with Mr Tom Forster; for in his own house, and in that alone, he had a very bad name. A secret is a secret, whether good or bad, and breeds suspicion; and the owner and landlord of No. 73 Queen Anne Street, not choosing to let his people know his peculiar profession, had the most dire rumours afloat as to his doings. Why was he so mysteriously absent, sometimes for days together? What took him on those sudden journeys? Why did he sometimes pack up a mysterious portmanteau, and disappear? The reader may, perhaps, guess; but the housekeeper had very grave suspicions, and would not have stayed in the house but for the very excellent wages which the old gentleman paid.

"Is Mr Edgar Wade come home from chambers?" asked Forster, suddenly. "I was detained in the country, and could not get home. Get me some tea, and be quick.”

There was that about his tone that rendered the woman

silent and respectful.

"Yes, sir; Mr Wade has come home, and was asking for you. Mrs Wade is but middling, sir-not very well."

'God bless me! I'm sorry for that. Bring tea at once." The old gentleman was as hungry as a hunter.

"If you have any cold meat, bring it too," he said. And he entered the back dining-room-a handsome apartment, with a capital fire, and surrounded by books. There, sinking into a chair, the old gentleman divested himself of his Hessian boots, and fell musing over the events of the day. The tea and cold meat came, and were despatched; and then, with his head still full of the complicated inductions of the case, Old Daylight sent his compliments to Mr Edgar Wadeand said that he would wait on him. With the housekeeper, that gentleman, who was the only person Mr Forster much cared for in the world-save, indeed, his mother, Mrs Wadeentered, and, having shaken the old gentleman's hand warmly, he sat down. He had in his hand the evening paper-the Meal-and a packet of letters, neatly tied with red tape.

Mr Edgar Wade was a handsome, aristocratic-looking man, well dressed, with a black coat, a roll collar of velvet, a deep black satin stock, and his hair worn à la Brutus—that is, cut short over his well-formed head-showing, however, a fine white forehead, massive, broad, and high. The rest of the face was in keeping the eyes brilliant and rather deep-set, which gave them a penetrating glance; the mouth very fine, and closely shut; the lips somewhat thin, but of good colour; the chin full of firmness. He was compactly built, and about the middle height; but looked tall, being spare and muscular. His face bore lines of study, and his whole manner was that of a self-possessed gentleman of a noble profession, in which he had already made a mark. Mr Forster, who knew him for a most industrious and hard worker, and an excellent son, had, indeed, left him all his property in his will, and had long looked upon him as his own. He was, however, too occupied with his new case to see how poorly and how pale the barrister looked; but when he sat down, and the light fell upon his face, he noticed it,