“Of none whatever,” said Redclyffe, “merely containing pencil memoranda, and notes of a traveller’s little expenses. I had papers about me of far more value, and a moderate sum of money, a letter of credit, which have escaped. I do not, however, feel inclined, on such grounds, to transfer the guilt decidedly from the spring-gun to any more responsible criminal; for it is very possible that the pocket-book, being carelessly carried, might have been lost on the way. I had not used it since the preceding day.” “Much more probable, indeed,” said the Warden. “The discharged gun is strong evidence against itself. Mr. Colcord,” continued he, raising his voice, “how long was the interval between the discharge of the gun and your arrival on the spot.” “Five minutes, or less,” said the old man, “for I was not far off, and made what haste I could, it being borne in on my spirit that mischief was abroad.” “Did you hear two reports?” asked the Warden. “Only one,” replied Colcord. “It is a plain case against the spring-gun,” said the Warden; “and, as you tell me you are a stranger, I trust you will not suppose that our peaceful English woods and parks are the haunt of banditti. We must try to give you a better idea of us. May I ask, are you an American, and recently come among us?” “I believe a letter of credit is considered as decisive as most modes of introduction,” said Redclyffe, feeling that the good Warden was desirous of knowing with some precision who and what he was, and that, in the circumstances, he had a right to such knowledge. “Here is mine, on a respectable house in London.” The Warden took it, and glanced it over with a slight apologetic bow; it was a credit for a handsome amount in favor of the Honorable Edward Redclyffe, a title that did not fail to impress the Englishman rather favorably towards his new acquaintance, although he happened to know something of their abundance, even so early in the republic, among the men branded sons of equality. But, at all events, it showed no ordinary ability and energy for so young a man to have held such position as this title denoted in the fiercely contested political struggles of the new democracy. “Do you know, Mr. Redclyffe, that this name is familiar to us, hereabouts?” asked he, with a kindly bow and recognition,--“that it is in fact the principal name in this neighborhood,--that a family of your name still possesses Braithwaite Hall, and that this very Hospital, where you have happily found shelter, was founded by former representatives of your name? Perhaps you count yourself among their kindred.” “My countrymen are apt to advance claims to kinship with distinguished English families on such slight grounds as to make it ridiculous,” said Redclyffe, coloring. “I should not choose to follow so absurd an example.”