"There is here a list of no less than thirteen securities, all of the highest class, which are stated to have represented--apparently at par value--over £50,000. At present prices they would be worth more. The presumption is that scrip, or bonds, or other legal documents representing ownership, were in that box. If such was the case, the question is--where are they now?" "£50,000!" I cried. I have no doubt that we all of us looked amazed at the magnitude of the sum. "That scoundrel," declared Dick, "is living on them--on the fat of the land." "Since they were all easily negotiable, and could be turned into cash at a moment's notice, if our suspicions are well founded--" "Which they are!" "It is practically certain that Mr Miller is in the enjoyment of a comfortable little fortune. Not the least extraordinary part of the matter is, that had not your sister come upon this list, almost, as it seems, by accident, we might never have known that such securities were in existence. As it is, I fear we shall have some trouble in tracing their possession to Mr Miller; and still more trouble in tracing him." It was ever so long--months and months--after I had found out what ought to have been in the despatch-box, that I went on a tremendous expedition--to London, all by myself. I was to meet Hetty Travers and her mother at St James's Hall--and perhaps Mr Sanford might be there, but he could not be sure--and then we were all going to a concert together. That was a Saturday. Hetty lived at Beckenham. And after the concert I was going to stay with her until the Monday. That was the programme. At home it was a lovely morning. So I thought I would go up by a pretty early train and do some shopping. I had quite a lot of money, and I wanted ever so many things, and you can buy things much better in London than at West Marden. It was true that I did not know much about London; for instance, I could not have found my way from St Paul's Churchyard to Regent Street. But I had heard Dick say that when you did not know your way to a place, all you had to do was to jump into a hansom and trust to the driver. He maintained that while there was a hansom to be found no one need be lost in town. So that was just what I did do. I took one from London Bridge to Oxford Street; then, when I had got what I wanted there, another to Regent Street, which, driving, seemed really no distance at all; and then a third to St Paul's Churchyard. Then, just as I was getting as hungry as anything, and was wondering where I could get something to eat, I found that all the shops were actually closing, and that I had scarcely any time left in which to get to St James's Hall. I get into a cab, and told the man to drive as fast as he could; it was then past two, and I was supposed to be there at half-past.