That the Professor would betray me to his clients I did not think at all likely, as to do so would necessitate his admitting to them that he had been bribed to allow a spy, if not a detective, to enter his service under a disguise, and to have access to the correspondence of the establishment. At the same time, I did not think it advisable--at all events for the present--to take him into my confidence by telling him who was the object of my search. Hence I had to pursue my investigations in a more or less indirect manner, inquiring first about one of the parties for whom letters came and then about another, and so getting an opportunity to refer to Jeanes without appearing to be more curious about him than about the others. In reply to my casual question as to who Jeanes was, the Professor replied, with apparent indifference, that the party in question was young and good-looking, and that he did not suppose the correspondence which was being carried on meant any more than a foolish love-affair. Several days went by, and the letter for Jeanes still remained uncalled for, until one afternoon the Professor asked me, as he had asked me on previous occasions, if I would keep an eye to the shop while he ran over the way to get half-a-pint. I nodded assent, and, promising that he would not be long, he disappeared down the stairs, only to return immediately afterwards for his pipe, which was lying on the mantel-shelf. As he passed the rack he took the letters down and ran through them as if to see how many there were, and then giving me a look, which I took to mean that it would be no use my tampering with them in his absence, he again descended the stairs in search of the desired refreshment. He had been gone about a quarter of an hour when a man, muffled up to the nose with a big “comforter,” and with a soft hat pulled down so closely over his brows that little more of him was visible than a pair of blue spectacles, opened the door and, without coming in, stood coughing and panting like a consumptive on the mat outside. As he did not show any disposition to enter, I inquired what he wanted, but shaking his head, as if to indicate that he was unable to answer, he continued hacking and coughing with stooped head and bent shoulders for half a minute, and then in a hollow voice, which seemed strangely familiar to me, asked if there was a letter for Mr. Henry Jeanes. As calmly as if his coming were a thing of the utmost indifference to me I reached for the packet of letters in order to select that which was addressed to Jeanes. To my dismay I found it gone, but repressing the exclamation of surprise which rose to my lips I turned to the waiting messenger and shook my head. He mumbled something that sounded like “Thank you,” and then, closing the door, toiled painfully downstairs. Scarcely had he reached the first landing before I had made what is called in music-hall parlance a “lightning change.”