he had met with, when he tried his luck on the occasion of the birthday.  To Penelope’s great regret, he had been most graciously received, and had added Miss Rachel’s name to one of his Ladies’ Charities on the spot.  My mistress was reported to be out of spirits, and to have held two long interviews with her lawyer.  Certain speculations followed, referring to a poor relation of the family—­one Miss Clack, whom I have mentioned in my account of the birthday dinner, as sitting next to Mr. Godfrey, and having a pretty taste in champagne.  Penelope was astonished to find that Miss Clack had not called yet.  She would surely not be long before she fastened herself on my lady as usual—­and so forth, and so forth, in the way women have of girding at each other, on and off paper.  This would not have been worth mentioning, I admit, but for one reason.  I hear you are likely to be turned over to Miss Clack, after parting with me.  In that case, just do me the favour of not believing a word she says, if she speaks of your humble servant.

On Friday, nothing happened—­except that one of the dogs showed signs of a breaking out behind the ears.  I gave him a dose of syrup of buckthorn, and put him on a diet of pot-liquor and vegetables till further orders.  Excuse my mentioning this.  It has slipped in somehow.  Pass it over please.  I am fast coming to the end of my offences against your cultivated modern taste.  Besides, the dog was a good creature, and deserved a good physicking; he did indeed.

Saturday, the last day of the week, is also the last day in my narrative.

The morning’s post brought me a surprise in the shape of a London newspaper.  The handwriting on the direction puzzled me.  I compared it with the money-lender’s name and address as recorded in my pocket-book, and identified it at once as the writing of Sergeant Cuff.

Looking through the paper eagerly enough, after this discovery, I found an ink-mark drawn round one of the police reports.  Here it is, at your service.  Read it as I read it, and you will set the right value on the Sergeant’s polite attention in sending me the news of the day: 

“Lambeth—­Shortly before the closing of the court, Mr. Septimus Luker, the well-known dealer in ancient gems, carvings, intagli, &c., &c., applied to the sitting magistrate for advice.  The applicant stated that he had been annoyed, at intervals throughout the day, by the proceedings of some of those strolling Indians who infest the streets.  The persons complained of were three in number.  After having been sent away by the police, they had returned again and again, and had attempted to enter the house on pretence of asking for charity.  Warned off in the front, they had been discovered again at the back of the premises.  Besides the annoyance complained of, Mr. Luker expressed himself as being under some apprehension that robbery might be contemplated.  His collection contained many unique gems, both classical