and did not wish to appear stand-offish. "And whom am I going to drink with, may I ask?"
The man carefully drew the cork of a bottle, poured out its contents with the discrimination of a bar-tender, handed the glass to his visitor with a bow, helped himself to a measure of rum, and bowed again as he drank.
"My best respects to you, guv'nor," he said. "Glad to see you in Hobkin's Hole Castle—that's here. Queer place for gentlemen to meet in, ain't it? Who are you talking to, says you? My name, guv'nor—well-known hereabouts—is Zachary Spurge!"
"You sent me that note last night?" asked Copplestone, taking a seat and filling his pipe. "How did you get it there—unseen?"
"Got a cousin as is odd-job man at the 'Admiral's Arms,'" replied Spurge. "He slipped it in for me. You may ha' seen him there, guv'nor—chap with one eye, and queer-looking, but to be trusted. As I am!—down to the ground."
"And what do you want to see me about?" inquired Copplestone. "What's this bit of news you've got to tell?"
Zachary Spurge thrust a hand inside his velveteen jacket and drew out a much folded and creased paper, which, on being unwrapped, proved to be the bill which offered a reward for the finding of Bassett Oliver. He held it up before his visitor.
"This!" he said. "A thousand pound is a vast lot o' money, guv'nor! Now, if I was to tell some-
