One morning Mr. Pym called at Maythorn Bank. An elderly woman, one Betty Huntsman, who had been employed by the Fontaines as cook, opened the door to him. The coloured man, Ozias, and a maid, Esther, had gone away with the family. It was the second time Mr. Pym had presented himself upon the same errand: to get the address of Sir Dace Fontaine. Betty, obeying her master's orders, had refused it; this time he had come to bribe her. Old Betty, however, an honest, kindly old woman, refused to be bribed. "I can't do it, sir," she said to Pym. "When the master wrote to give me the address, on account of sending him his foreign letters, he forbade me to disclose it to anybody down here. It is only myself that knows it, sir." "It is in London; I know that much," affirmed Pym, making a shot at the place, and so far taking in old Betty. "That much may possibly be known, sir. I cannot tell more." Back went Pym to Colonel Letsom's. He sat down and wrote a letter in a young lady's hand--for he had all kinds of writing at his fingers' ends--and addressed it to Mrs. Betty Huntsman at Maythorn Bank, Worcestershire. This he enclosed in a bigger envelope, with a few lines from himself, and posted it to London, to one Alfred Saxby, a sailor friend of his. He next, in a careless, off-hand manner, asked Colonel Letsom if he'd mind calling at Maythorn Bank, and asking the old cook there if she could give him her master's address. Oh, Pym was as cunning as a fox, and could lay out his plans artfully. And Colonel Letsom, unsuspicious as the day, and willing to oblige everybody, did call that afternoon to put the question to Betty; but she told him she was not at liberty to give the address. The following morning, Pym got the summons he had been expecting, to join his ship. The _Rose of Delhi_ was now ready to take in cargo. After swearing a little, down sat Mr. Pym to his desk, and in a shaky hand, to imitate a sick man's, wrote back word that he was ill in bed, but would endeavour to be up in London on the morrow. And, the morning following this, Mrs. Betty Huntsman got a letter from London. "_London, Thursday._ "DEAR OLD BETTY, "I am writing to you for papa, who is very poorly indeed. Should Colonel Letsom apply to you for our address here, you are to give it him: papa wishes him to have it. We hope your wrist is better. "CORALIE FONTAINE." Betty Huntsman, honest herself, never supposed but the letter was written by Miss Fontaine. By-and-by, there came a ring at the bell. "My uncle, Colonel Letsom, requested me to call here this morning, as I was passing on my way to Timberdale Rectory," began Mr. Pym; for it was he who rang, and by his authoritative voice and lordly manner, one might have thought he was on board a royal frigate, commanding a cargo of refractory soldiers. "Yes, sir!" answered Betty, dropping a curtsy. "Colonel Letsom wants your master's address in London--if you can give it him. He has to write to Sir Dace to-day."