Yakub possessed himself of a third volume, and in due time read, “‘Number 15,673—July, 18—, given to R.—Amount of loss, fifteen cents.’.rdquo; “Let me see that entry,” said Arkush. After he had scrutinized it, “Oh yes,” he continued, “I recollect. White was a colored man. I recollect all about it. That ring and that box were the first things he brought here; that picture was the last. I happen to recollect because I gave that box to my daughter, Rebecca, instead of offering it for sale.” “Ah,” said Merivale, “then I suppose Miss Rebecca has it still. Could she be persuaded to show it to us?” “I don’t know. I will ask her.” He sent Yakub into the front room with instructions for Rebecca to present herself. On her arrival, they held a brief conference together in Judisch. Then Rebecca went away, and Arkush said to us, “Yes, she has got it yet. She has gone to fetch it.” During her absence Merivale resumed, “You are quite sure that it is useless to go further back in your books—that the name of White doesn’t occur in any other place?” “Oh, yes; I am sure. I recollect perfectly. He was a colored man. He only came twice.” “I notice that on one occasion his address is given as Harlem, on another as Leonard street. How is that?” “How do I know? Maybe he moved. Maybe neither address was his true one. These people very often give false names and addresses.” “I suppose they do,” Merivale assented, and thereafter held his peace, chewing his nether lip as his habit was when engrossed in thought. For my part I could not see that we had made much progress. I was beginning to get impatient. Becky reappeared, bearing the box. The box was about ten inches square by four or five in depth. It was empty. Merivale did not allow me to examine it. “Wait,” he said, as I reached out my hand to take it. “Would you mind very much parting with this box, Miss Arkush?” he asked, fixing a pair of languishing eyes upon Rebecca’s face. “What will you give me for it?” the business-like young lady inquired. “What will you accept?” “What’s it worth, father?” “That box is worth two dollars any how,” replied the shameless old usurer, regardless of the fact that we knew to a mill what he had paid for it. “Then certainly this will be enough,” said Merivale, and he slipped a five-dollar gold piece into Rebecca’s palm. Then he settled with Arkush, bestowed a gratuity upon Yakub, and bidding an affable good-by to every body, led me out through the shop into the street. “Well,” I said, “we have run against the dead wall that you foresaw.” “So it appears,” said he. “The picture was pawned by a colored man only two years ago—that is, four-and-twenty years after my father’s death. We don’t know of any means by which to reach that colored man; but even if we did—” “It would be a forlorn hope.”