At eleven A.M. the packet was in my hands. I have devoted the best part of to-day to the contents of this packet. They consist of letters written by Matthew Haygarth, and distinguished by a most abominable orthography; but I remember my own father's epistolary composition to have been somewhat deficient in this respect; nor is it singular that the humble citizen should have been a poor hand at spelling in an age when royal personages indulged in a phonetic style of orthography which would provoke the laughter of a modern charity-boy. That the pretender to the crown of England should murder the two languages in which he wrote seems a small thing; but that Frederick the Great, the most accomplished of princes, bosom-friend of Voltaire, and sworn patron of the literati, should not have been able to spell, is a matter for some astonishment. I could but remember this fact, as I perused the epistles of Matthew Haygarth. I felt that these letters had in all probability been carefully numbered by the lady to whom they belong, and that to tamper with them to any serious extent might be dangerous. I have therefore only ventured to retain one insignificant scrawl as an example of Matthew Haygarth's caligraphy and signature. From the rest I have taken copious notes. It appears to me that these letters relate to some _liaison_ of the gentleman's youth; though I am fain to confess myself surprised to discover that, even in a period notorious for looseness of morals, a man should enter into such details in a correspondence with his sister. _Autres temps, autres moeurs_. I have selected my extracts with great care, and hope that you may be able to make more use of them than I can at present imagine possible. I shall post this letter and enclosure with my own hands, though in order to do so I must pass the Black Swan. I shall despatch my messenger to Lochiel Villa, with Miss Judson's packet, under cover of the darkness. In much haste, to catch the London mail, Truly yours, H.N.C.P. * * * * * _From Philip Sheldon to Horatio Paget_. City, Oct. 12, 186-- Dear Paget,--Come back to town. You are only wasting money, time, and trouble. Yours, P.S. CHAPTER III. TOO CLEVER, FOR A CATSPAW. Captain Paget returned to town, mystified by that sudden summons from his patron, and eager to know what new aspect of affairs rendered his further presence in Ullerton useless or undesirable. Horatio arrived in the great city half-a-dozen hours before his sometime protege, and was comfortably installed when Valentine returned to those lodgings in Omega Street, Chelsea, which the two men occupied in common. Captain Paget went into the City to see Philip Sheldon on the day of his return, but did not succeed in finding the stockbroker. The evening's post brought him a letter from Philip, appointing an interview at Bayswater, at three o'clock on the following day--the day after Valentine's return from Ullerton.