Thoughtless and superficial people may say, Here is surely a very trumpery little incident related in an absurdly circumstantial manner.  Oh, my young friends and fellow-sinners! beware of presuming to exercise your poor carnal reason.  Oh, be morally tidy.  Let your faith be as your stockings, and your stockings as your faith.  Both ever spotless, and both ready to put on at a moment’s notice!

I beg a thousand pardons.  I have fallen insensibly into my Sunday-school style.  Most inappropriate in such a record as this.  Let me try to be worldly—­let me say that trifles, in this case as in many others, led to terrible results.  Merely premising that the polite stranger was Mr. Luker, of Lambeth, we will now follow Mr. Godfrey home to his residence at Kilburn.

He found waiting for him, in the hall, a poorly clad but delicate and interesting-looking little boy.  The boy handed him a letter, merely mentioning that he had been entrusted with it by an old lady whom he did not know, and who had given him no instructions to wait for an answer.  Such incidents as these were not uncommon in Mr. Godfrey’s large experience as a promoter of public charities.  He let the boy go, and opened the letter.

The handwriting was entirely unfamiliar to him.  It requested his attendance, within an hour’s time, at a house in Northumberland Street, Strand, which he had never had occasion to enter before.  The object sought was to obtain from the worthy manager certain details on the subject of the Mothers’-Small-Clothes-Conversion-Society, and the information was wanted by an elderly lady who proposed adding largely to the resources of the charity, if her questions were met by satisfactory replies.  She mentioned her name, and she added that the shortness of her stay in London prevented her from giving any longer notice to the eminent philanthropist whom she addressed.

Ordinary people might have hesitated before setting aside their own engagements to suit the convenience of a stranger.  The Christian Hero never hesitates where good is to be done.  Mr. Godfrey instantly turned back, and proceeded to the house in Northumberland Street.  A most respectable though somewhat corpulent man answered the door, and, on hearing Mr. Godfrey’s name, immediately conducted him into an empty apartment at the back, on the drawing-room floor.  He noticed two unusual things on entering the room.  One of them was a faint odour of musk and camphor.  The other was an ancient Oriental manuscript, richly illuminated with Indian figures and devices, that lay open to inspection on a table.

He was looking at the book, the position of which caused him to stand with his back turned towards the closed folding doors communicating with the front room, when, without the slightest previous noise to warn him, he felt himself suddenly seized round the neck from behind.  He had just time to notice that the arm round his neck was naked and of a tawny-brown colour, before his eyes were bandaged, his mouth was gagged, and he was thrown helpless on the floor by (as he judged) two men.  A third rifled his pockets, and—­if, as a lady, I may venture to use such an expression—­searched him, without ceremony, through and through to his skin.