"See here, Bramble, if you let anything happen to her I'll—" Mr. Bramble relentlessly urged him up the steps.
Long before Jane arrived, Trotter was in possession of the details. He was vastly perplexed.
"I daresay one of those beastly cousins of mine has trumped up some charge that he figures will put me out of the running for ever," he said gloomily. He sat, slack and dejected, in a corner of the shop farthest removed from the windows. "I shouldn't mind so much if it weren't for Lady Jane. She—you see, M'sieur, she has promised to be my wife. This will hurt her terribly. The beastly curs!"
"Sit down!" commanded M. Mirabeau. "You must not go raging up and down past those windows."
"Confound you, Mirabeau, he doesn't know this place exists. He never will know unless he follows Lady Jane. I'll do as I jolly well please."
De Bosky, inspired, produced a letter he had just received from his friend, the cracksman. He had read it to the bookseller and clockmaker, and now re-read it, with soulful fervour, for the benefit of the new arrival. He interrupted himself to beg M. Mirabeau to unlock the safe and bring forth the treasure.
"You see what he says?" cried he, shaking the letter in front of Trotter's eyes. "And here is the money! See! Touch it, my friend. It is real. I thought I was also dreaming. Count them. Begin with this one. Now,—one hundred, two hundred—"
"I haven't the remotest idea what you're talking about," said Trotter, staring blankly at the money.
"What a fool I am!" cried de Bosky. "I be-
