“That was well done,” said Jacob; “now we have not a minute to lose. He brought a letter here, did he not?” “He did that, Mr. Short; he brought it and dropped it into the mail-bag himself. I can’t find it, so there’s no use in your trying to meddle. It is as much as my place is worth, even talking to you on the subject, and if I was to do more, it’s penal servitude might hang over my head.” “It might, or it might not,” said Jacob; “we have talked over these matters a few times, haven’t we, Mrs. Higgins? It is rather late in the day for you to take up this tone. I thought the matter was all arranged. You want thirty pounds, don’t you now? You shall have it if you give me one look at the letter which Mr. Rowton has just dropped into the bag.” The woman hesitated again; she had a weak and somewhat cowardly type of face—her mouth expressed greed. When Jacob spoke of the thirty pounds which might so easily become hers, her eyes glittered with an ugly light. “Heaven knows I do want that money,” she said, “and I don’t suppose any harm will come of it; be quick, then, or Polly will be back.” The woman shivered as she spoke. She lifted the flap of the counter. “I was just about to seal the bag,” she said; “I won’t look—you do.” Jacob slipped inside the counter. The post-mistress held the bag, half-full of letters, for him to peep in. His eyes which were keen as an eagle’s, quickly discovered the despatch he wanted. He lifted it out of the bag and coolly deposited it in his pocket. [Illustration: “He lifted the dispatch out of the bag and coolly deposited it in his pocket.”—_Page 229._] “No, no; that’s not fair,” she cried in terror. “Perfectly fair,” he replied; “I’ll post it myself at Pitstow in time to catch the same mail.” “You cannot; it is impossible.” “It is quite possible. Don’t keep me now, woman; here’s your thirty pounds.” He laid an envelope on the counter, and vanished before she could utter a word. Going as quickly as ever his feet could carry him, Jacob approached the nearest inn, ordered a trap and the fleetest horse in the livery stables. He made a very plausible explanation for his hurry. “You know all about the burglary up at the Heights,” he said—“well, I’m off to see the police at Pitstow; my master told me to telegraph, but it occurred to me it would be best to drive over and bring one or two of them back with me. Now, do be quick. Half a crown to the man who brings round the trap first.” “It shall be at your service in three minutes at the farthest,” said the burly host of the little village inn. He ran off to the stables, and several men began to loaf round and eagerly question Jacob Short.