"I never saw you before in all my life," said the fellow, though his countenance seemed to belie his words. "That is not true," said I; "you are the man who attempted to cheat me of one-and-ninepence in the coach-yard, on the first morning of my arrival in London." "I don't doubt it," said the other; "a confirmed thief;" and here his tones became peculiarly sharp; "I would fain see him hanged--crucified. Drag him along." "I am no constable," said I; "you have got your pocket-book--I would rather you would bid me let him go." "Bid you let him go!" said the other almost furiously, "I command--stay, what was I going to say? I was forgetting myself," he observed more gently; "but he stole my pocket-book; if you did but know what it contained." "Well," said I, "if it contains anything valuable, be the more thankful that you have recovered it; as for the man, I will help you to take him where you please; but I wish you would let him go." The stranger hesitated, and there was an extraordinary play of emotion in his features; he looked ferociously at the pickpocket, and, more than once, somewhat suspiciously at myself; at last his countenance cleared, and, with a good grace, he said, "Well, you have done me a great service, and you have my consent to let him go; but the rascal shall not escape with impunity," he exclaimed suddenly, as I let the man go, and starting forward, before the fellow could escape, he struck him a violent blow on the face. The man staggered, and had nearly fallen; recovering himself, however, he said: "I tell you what, my fellow, if I ever meet you in this street in a dark night, and I have a knife about me, it shall be the worse for you; as for you, young man," said he to me; but, observing that the other was making towards him, he left whatever he was about to say unfinished, and, taking to his heels, was out of sight in a moment. The stranger and myself walked in the direction of Cheapside, the way in which he had been originally proceeding; he was silent for a few moments, at length he said: "You have really done me a great service, and I should be ungrateful not to acknowledge it. I am a merchant; and a merchant's pocket-book, as you perhaps know, contains many things of importance; but young man," he exclaimed, "I think I have seen you before; I thought so at first, but where I cannot exactly say: where was it?" I mentioned London Bridge and the old apple-woman. "Oh," said he, and smiled, and there was something peculiar in his smile, "I remember now. Do you frequently sit on London Bridge?" "Occasionally," said I; "that old woman is an old friend of mine." "Friend?" said the stranger, "I am glad of it, for I shall know where to find you. At present I am going to 'Change; time you know is precious to a merchant." We were by this time close to Cheapside. "Farewell," said he, "I shall not forget this service. I trust we shall soon meet again." He then shook me by the hand and went his way.