At this juncture, one of the Detective Force called at Mrs. Fokesell’s, to apprise the Major that they had already tracked the runaway Miss. The maid went out into the area to answer the knock and learn the business of the visitor. In a few minutes she returned, saying, it was a strange kind of a man, and that he had a strange kind of a way with him, and had whispered something to her down the railings that he wanted to see a gentleman about “summat as was missing.” The Sandboys no sooner heard this, than they, one and all, started from their seats, declaring it was the man from the telegraph with news of poor Psyche and their boxes. The maid was despatched with directions to bring the messenger down into the kitchen immediately, and in a minute a pair of heavy boots were heard descending the stairs. “Tha’s come about that thar baggage of ourn, haista?” inquired Mr. Cursty. The term “baggage” was quite sufficient to assure the Detective that he was in the presence of the gentleman whose female relative had eloped with the foreign Count. “Yes, sir; we’ve got some clue as to what you allude to—we’ve discovered their whereabouts, at least”—and the cautious and mysterious Officer winked his eye, and nodded his head knowingly. “Oh, thar’s a guid man! a guid man!” cried Mrs. Sandboys, with extreme joy. “So tha’st heard on t’things at last.” “True, ma’am,” replied the Officer, “when last we heard on—you know—the things”—and he winked again—“they wasn’t a hundred miles from”—and here he looked cautiously round the room, and added in a whisper—“Gretna Green, ma’am.” “Gertna Gern!” exclaimed Mr. Cursty; “whar on yerth be that?” “Why, I should think it’s about, as near as may be, three hundred and fifty miles,” added the Detective, nodding his head knowingly, “from where you’re a sitting on.” “Waistoma! waistoma! we shall set e’en on t’things never nae mair,” shouted Mrs. Sandboys, wringing her hands, as she thought of the “changeless” state of the family. “And my poor pet! oh, dear!” interjected Elcy. Mr. Christopher inquired whether they were in safe custody. “Why, no, sir, we can’t say as how we’ve got ’em in custody, yet. You see its rayther nasty work making mistakes in matters of this kind.” “Then wha in t’ neame of guidness had got how’d of t’ guids,” asked the wife, in a half-frantic state of alarm. “Oh, you needn’t be under no fears, ma’am; it’s the same foreign party,” returned the officer, with another familiar jerk of his head, “as bolted from London with the ‘bit of goods,’ as you says, ma’am.” And here he gave another wink. “Oh, then it be as I ’spected, Cursty,” added Mrs. S., “and I suddent wonder but t’ nasty, filthy wretch has got on, at this verra teyme, yen of t’ new shirts I bought thee.”