"I did, sir. I brought it home and sorted the letters at that desk, ready for the two men to take out in the morning. I used to sort all the letters in the morning, London and others: but lately I've done what we call the local bags--which come in before bed-time--at night. It saves time in the morning." "Do you recollect noticing the letter for Crabb Cot?" "I think I noticed it. Yes, I feel sure I did. You see, there's often something or other for you, so that it's not remarkable. But I am sure I did notice the letter." "No one could have got to it in the night?" "What--here?" exclaimed Rymer, opening his eyes in surprise that such a question should be put. "No, certainly not. The letter-bags are locked up in this desk, and I keep the key about me." "And you gave them as usual to Lee in the morning?" Mr. Rymer knitted his patient brow the least in the world, as if he thought that Tod's pursuing these questions reflected some suspicion on himself. He answered very meekly--going over the whole from the first. "When I brought the Worcester bag in on Wednesday night, I was at home alone: my wife and daughter happened to be spending the evening with some friends, and the servant had asked leave to go out. I sorted the letters, and locked them up as usual in one of the deep drawers of the desk. I never unlocked it again until the last thing in the morning, when the other letters that had come in were ready to go out, and the two men were waiting for them. The letter would be in Lee's packet, of course--which I delivered to him. But Lee is to be depended on: he would not tamper with it. That is the whole history so far as I am connected with it, Mr. Joseph Todhetley. I could not tell you more if I talked till mid-day." "What's that, Thomas? Anything amiss with the letters?" called out a voice at this juncture, as the inner door opened, that shut out the kitchen. I knew it. Knew it for Mrs. Rymer's. I didn't like her a bit: and how a refined man like Rymer (and he was so in all respects) could have made her his wife seemed to me to be a seven days' wonder. She had a nose as long as from Timberdale to Crabb Ravine; and her hair and face were red, and her flounces gaudy. As common a woman as you'd see in a summer's day, with a broad Brummagem accent. But she was very capable, and not unkindly natured. The worst Timberdale said of her was, that she had done her best to spoil that ugly son of hers.