Sarah Crogan, as she gave me her name,--a buxom, laughing Irish girl,--heard my story, and let me in. I told her to tell the mistress that I should be up stairs after examining matters in the basement; when she informed me that her master, Mr. Bruce, had gone off travelling somewhere, and that her mistress went off the afternoon before, to spend the night with a lady friend,--perhaps the one with whom I had seen her in the horse-car,--so I took things easy; and with a good deal of joking and merry-making with Sarah, managed to go all over the house, and flattered Sarah with showing me a great deal of her mistress's wardrobe, which was splendid indeed. (I confess I thought of it with some degree of envy, when I reflected what poor dresses, in comparison, a certain handsome and honest woman, who was the mother of my own dear children, was obliged to get along with.) And better than all, I identified, on some unmade-up dress-patterns, two of what I took to be, and what proved to be, of the peculiar cards which Mr. Redding's house attached to its goods, with secret cost-marks in ink. I had no difficulty in securing these without exciting Sarah's suspicion, and having made all the research I cared to, left the house, not without, however, taking a cosy lunch with Sarah in the basement, and flattering her, to such a degree, with the hope of future attentions from me, that she agreed not to say anything about the pipe-repairer's having been there. Finding a pair of scissors in Mrs. Bruce's bedroom, I had made a few sly clippings from some of the unmade-up goods, and encountering the peculiar silk dress, hanging in a large closet with a dozen more of other styles, I had jokingly shut myself in, in a frolicsome way, with Sarah, long enough to make a clipping from a broad hem in the inside of a sleeve of the dress. I felt quite satisfied that Sarah would say nothing of the Scotchman's having been there, for I assumed the rôle of a Scotchman with her, which was by no means a bad dodge, as Sarah was a North-of-Ireland lass, and no Catholic. Duly in another garb, I was at Mr. Redding's, and told him my story. I took him into his private office, and told him to be perfectly reticent,--to say nothing to anybody, not even to his partner, or to his faithful clerk, Mr. Phillips, when they should have returned, until I should see him again; "for," said I, "the thief was one of your old clerks, and Mr. Phillips's heart is so kindly and soft, and he evidently thinks so much of the man, and will be so overcome with astonishment, that his sympathies may become aroused to the extent of interceding for him, or giving him a timely hint to 'clear out.'" Mr. Redding could not comprehend this, but promised to obey me, upon my saying to him that it was better always that there should be just as few to keep a secret as possible, however tried and trusted any might be.