“It’s the most tremendous thing that has happened these fifty years,” said the florid man. “A gang of coiners, sir, discovered at Barkingham--in a house they used to call the Grange. All the dreadful lot of bad silver that’s been about, they’re at the bottom of. And the head of the gang not taken!--escaped, sir, like a ghost on the stage, through a trap-door, after actually locking the runners into his workshop. The blacksmiths from Barkingham had to break them out; the whole house was found full of iron doors, back staircases, and all that sort of thing, just like the Inquisition. A most respectable man, the original proprietor! Think what a misfortune to have let his house to a scoundrel who has turned the whole inside into traps, furnaces, and iron doors. The fellow’s reference, sir, was actually at a London bank, where he kept a first-rate account. What is to become of society? where is our protection? Where are our characters, when we are left at the mercy of scoundrels? The times are awful--upon my soul, the times we live in are perfectly awful!” “Pray, sir, is there any chance of catching this coiner?” I inquired innocently. “I hope so, sir; for the sake of outraged society, I hope so,” said the excitable man. “They’ve printed handbills at Barkingham, offering a reward for taking him. I was with my friend the mayor, early this morning, and saw them issued. ‘Mr. Mayor,’ says I, ‘I’m going West--give me a few copies--let me help to circulate them--for the sake of outraged society, let me help to circulate them. Here they are--take a few, sir, for distribution. You’ll see these are three other fellows to be caught besides the principal rascal--one of them a scamp belonging to a respectable family. Oh! what times! Take three copies, and pray circulate them in three influential quarters. Perhaps that gentleman next you would like a few. Will you take three, sir?” “No, I won’t,” said the Bow Street runner doggedly. “Nor yet one of ‘em--and it’s my opinion that the coining-gang would be nabbed all the sooner, if you was to give over helping the law to catch them.” This answer produced a vehement expostulation from my excitable neighbor, to which I paid little attention, being better engaged in reading the handbill. It described the doctor’s personal appearance with remarkable accuracy, and cautioned persons in seaport towns to be on the lookout for him. Old File, Young File, and myself were all dishonorably mentioned together in a second paragraph, as runaways of inferior importance Not a word was said in the handbill to show that the authorities at Barkingham even so much as suspected the direction in which any one of us had escaped. This would have been very encouraging, but for the presence of the runner by my side, which looked as if Bow Street had its suspicions, however innocent Barkingham might be.