Off went his night-cap, on went his coat. Ringing the bell, he ordered the phaeton to be got ready on the instant, to take him to the station: he was going to Worcester. Mrs. Todhetley quite implored him not to go; as good as went down on her knees: he would increase his cold, and perhaps be laid up. But he wouldn't listen. "Hang the cold!" he said: "he had no cold; it was gone. People shouldn't have it to say that tricks could be played on him with impunity, and stolen notes substituted for honest ones." "What a way he puts himself into!" laughed Tod, when he had ordered us off to make ready. "I know somebody else who does just the same." "You'll get it presently, Johnny." Away we went to the station, Bob and Blister spanking along and Tod driving; the Squire, wrapped in about a dozen rugs and comforters, sitting beside him. The groom, Dwarf Giles, was behind with me: he would have to take the carriage back again. A train came up pretty soon, and we reached Worcester. Of all commotions, the Squire made the worst. When he got to the bank, Mr. Isaac was out: would not be in till three o'clock: and that put the finishing stroke to the pater's impatience. Next he went to the Star, and told of the matter there, gathering half the house about him. The post-office was taken next. They seemed to know nothing whatever about the letter--and I don't think they did--had not particularly noticed it in sorting: could not have seemed to see less had they been in a fog at sea: except one thing, and that they'd swear to--that every letter posted at the office the previous day, and all other days, had been duly forwarded, untampered with, to its destination. The first dawn of reason that fell over us was in the interview with Mr. Isaac. It was pleasant to be with any one so cheerfully calm. Taking the roll of five-pound notes in his hand, he pronounced them to be the same he had given us on the previous day; and the number I had dotted down to have been the one belonging to the tenth note. "And is this one of those two stolen ones that were advertised?" demanded the Squire, putting it into Mr. Isaac's hands. Mr. Isaac spoke with a clerk for a minute--perhaps referring to the numbers as Salmon had done--and came back saying that it was the note. So there we were: the matter laid, so far, to rest. Nothing could be more unsatisfactory. The Squire sat quite still, as if he had been struck dumb. "I'm sure I shall never see daylight out of this," cried the Squire, in a sort of hopeless, mazy tone. "It's worse than conjuring." Mr. Isaac was called away. The Squire fastened upon one of the old clerks, and went over the matter with him. He could not readily understand it. "The note must have been changed, Mr. Todhetley," said he. "Changed in the post?" "Changed somewhere." "But who did it?" "That's the question."