"No, Carter, there is no need for that, thank you; have you heard anything more of Grimes?" "Yes, sir, I have, and he means mischief. The writ of ca. sa. has been issued and is now in the hands of the sheriff's officer, who was making private inquiries from the ' boots' of the Green Dragon early this morning. Mr. George had better not come back to Lon don after the funeral; he must join the mail train at Stratford Junction, in Essex, the sheriff of Middlesex cannot execute his writ there. I will be there with his luggage un less I am hindered, and, if he does not see me there, he will find his luggage in the first smoking carriage nearest to the guard's van in front of the train; you take a note of that, sir, so that there shall be no mistake, and leave the rest to me." George Croome and I went on to the rectory, the sad meeting of the bereaved family was got over, the solemn funeral service was held, and at 8.30 P.M. George and I were on the platform of the Stratford Junction station waiting for the mail train to come from London. When the train steamed in there were no signs of Carter, but in the smoking compartment nearest to the guard's van in front of the train was George's portmanteau and his rug, all safe enough. Good faithful clerk! Carter had done his duty, and George Croome was as good as out of the country. On arriving at the office on the Saturday morning there were no signs of Carter. I went round to the Green Dragon to settle the bill with the landlady, but she seemed surprised at my calling, and told me that Mr. Croome had slept there on the Thurs day as arranged, and had left on the Friday morning to attend the funeral, returning later in the evening; that he had had a hasty dinner there, called for his bill, paid it, and taken a cab with his portmanteau to the Shoreditch station; and she hoped all was right, as there had been a very shabby
looking man hanging about asking questions about him. If I felt some little astonish ment I did not let my face betray it, and merely remarked that if the bill was settled that was all I felt concerned about. A little later on in the day I got a short note from Carter, which, so far as I can recollect at this distance of time, ran as follows : S1.oman's, Curs1tor Street, Chancery Lane.
Dear S1r, — I am afraid I must trouble you to come down here. The fact is the sheriff's officer made a little mistake yesterday, and I want you to come here and identify me as being your faithful clerk. George Carter. I hurried down to Cursitor street, where I found Carter in durance vile in the sponging house kept by Sloman, well known to all London lawyers at that time. His first words to me were : " I will explain how the mistake arose when I am out of here; until then you had better ask no questions, but take the proper steps (which he indicated) to procure my release." I had to go on to Judges' Chambers and make a special application to the judge sit ting there that afternoon. It happened to be Baron Martin, an Irishman, with a keen sense of racy humor, but withal a stern sense of the necessity of maintaining the majesty of the law and the dignity of the court. In addition to swearing that Carter was not George Croome, and had been arrested in mistake for him, the judge re quired me to swear that I had had no hand directly or indirectly in bringing about the mistake which had occurred; this he required of me as an attorney and officer of the court, and I was glad to be able to swear it with a clear conscience. This done the old judge sat back in his chair and laughed heartily at the discomfiture of the money lender, and ordered the immediate release of Carter, only adding these significant words at the end of the order: " No action by any party against the sheriff." It was not until the next day that Carter
