Matt's advice was taken: screws were examined, turned over, unrolled; the tied-up squares of paper were looked at; Matt went down upon his knees behind the counter and routed about amongst some rubbish; the squares freshly cut up were looked over; and then once more the heap on the chair in the room was scanned, leaf by leaf, but only one more fragment was found, evidently a portion of the same book; but it bore a date four years prior to the marriage of Septimus Hardon's parents. "Makes worse of it," muttered old Matt to himself; "but perhaps he was only a young doctor, and one book lasted him a long time. S'pose we go and have a look round at some of the publics," he said aloud, "eh, sir?" Septimus jumped at the suggestion, and together they noted down the names of Miss Tollicks' principal customers for screws, for she said that she was sure the thick paper had been used entirely for that purpose; but on making inquiry at the different pewter-covered bars, one and all of the stout gentlemen in shirt-sleeves and short white aprons declared that they were sold out, and could have got rid of "twiced as much." "I suppose," said Septimus to one red-faced gentleman, "it would be of no use to ask you who bought the screws?" The man stood, and softly rubbed with a strange rasping noise his well-shorn range of stubble on chin and cheek; then pulled open the screw-drawer, looked in it, then at the counter, then at Septimus, as if doubtful of his sanity, and said: "Well, no, sir, I don't think as it would." They returned to the little tobacconist's shop, Septimus holding tightly to the newly-found scrap of paper. And yet it was useless--waste-paper; no more. There could be no doubt about it's being the entry made when he saw the light; but now it was found, with his own hand he had destroyed the most precious part, for without date it was of no avail. Septimus Hardon felt sick at heart when he again sat down in Miss Tollicks' room, and gazed with woebegone looks in his companion's face. The prize as it were within his reach; his old troubles swept away; his legitimacy proved--the cup almost at his lips, and then dashed away. It was in vain that Miss Tollicks vented her well-meant platitudes, and shone with hospitable warmth; Septimus Hardon seemed crushed, and Matt had scarcely a word to say. "Have a little more sugar," said Miss Tollicks to the man of the bitter cup. "What a tiresome world this is! And only to think of me buying that very paper, and the great dirty ruffian of a man bringing it home, and wanting to buy half-a-pound of tobacco before I began business and had a license; and then asking me if I had any old boots, while he chipped two of the jars shamefully." "Only think," muttered old Matt as they went slowly homewards, "for me to have had that entry under my very nose, and then only turned it up and wouldn't look at it." Volume Three, Chapter IX. BY NIGHT.