Gilead, from mere force of habit, was wont to run his eye down these successive courses from top to base--though his proper business lay with the Personal Appeal section alone--which was the reason why the following brief supplication momentarily arrested his attention on a certain November day:-- “_Jennett. Return and all will be forgiven._” It was just the commonplace cry, prescriptively uttered; yet, though potential of any possible tragedy, and full in implication of sorrow and significance, it lay off the track of his questing, and he would hardly have given it a thought had it not been for the oddness of the title-name. Janet, Jeannette, Jenny--these were familiar forms; but, Jennett! Evidently anglicised from the Gallic, the confidence shown by the advertiser in the exclusiveness of its appeal witnessed to the unusualness of the spelling. If Jennett was the only Jennett in England and Jennett saw, Jennett must understand. Then Gilead passed on to other matters, and forgot all about it. Now one of the penalties imposed upon the growing reputation of the Agency consisted in the increasing number of unsolicited applications for its help. Originally designed for the purpose of voluntarily enquiring into the merits of advertised appeals, greed and hypocrisy had quickly discovered the wideness of its operations and the munificence displayed in its dealings, and were not slow in endeavouring to take advantage of them. So complete by this time, however, was the machinery of the Bureau that very little base coin was permitted to pass it undetected; but the greater surveillance rendered necessary thereby threw such an amount of additional work on the staff that Gilead was obliged at length to rule that the cachet of an advertisement was obligatory before a case could be considered; and to that rule he rigidly adhered, allowing no exceptions. One day Herbert Nestle, during his morning consultation with his chief, ventured to draw his attention to an advertisement in the day’s paper:-- “_Help earnestly solicited. Mrs B._” “Did you notice it, sir?” he asked. “Yes,” answered Gilead, with a smile. “I noticed it and wondered. It reminded me of an article on Dead Letters that I read years ago. Specimen addresses were quoted, one of which ran, ‘Mrs’--I forget the name--‘Behind the Church, England’.” The secretary laughed. “This advertisement was put in at my instance, sir. It was merely a ‘draw,’ inserted to comply with your rule. Mrs B., or Mrs Baxter, applied to me personally, and thinking her case a reasonable one, I advised her to approach us according to form.” “You did very right, Nestle. Who is Mrs Baxter?” “Her son, sir, was a postman in the South-West District. I don’t know if you happened to notice the case. He was convicted of stealing a registered letter, and was condemned at the Middlesex Quarter Sessions last week to eighteen months hard labour.” “No, I did not. Well?”