Nevertheless, he thought it of advantage to discover of what value the bundle might be. Even if he was to get but a quarter of its value from the Pole, he would like to know what it was that he was to get a quarter of.
He lollopped lazily down the street. His time was his own. He peered through a neglected doorway into an empty yard, stepped into it, behind the screen of a hoarding, looking first up and down to see whether any of the tyrants were about. Seeing no helmet and therefore no tyrant, he untied the parcel and pulled out the coat within. He was agreeably surprised. He had expected slops, but this was not slops. He was no valuer, but he would imperil for ever the true end of man's soul and suffer the companionship of demons for eternity (such were the rash hazards he took) if it were not two quid, and played properly it might be three.
Wait a moment, there might be something in the pockets. He felt in the left-hand pocket—nothing; in the right-hand pocket, there nothing but that solid, oblong cheque book with four cheques torn out. At first he thought of throwing it away, for it identified the owner of the garment. Then he remembered things called "clues," and threw far
