“Do you know where we are?” she asked, in a frightened tone. “At Camden-town,” I replied. She sprang hastily from her seat, and came towards me. “I am close to my friend’s house here,” she said, “so it is a lucky thing for me. It is not five minutes’ walk from the station. I will say good-bye to you now, Mr. Wilcox, and I thank you a thousand times for your kindness.” She seemed flurried, and she held out both her little hands to me in an appealing kind of way, as if she were afraid of my detaining her against her will. I took them both into mine, pressing them with rather more ardour than was quite necessary. “I do not like you to go alone at this hour,” I said, “but there is no help for it. It has been a delightful time to me. Will you allow me to call upon you to-morrow morning early, for I leave London at 10.30; or on Wednesday, when I shall be in town again?” “O,” she answered, hanging her head, “I don’t know. I’ll write and tell mamma how kind you have been, and, and—but I must go, Mr. Wilcox.” “I don’t like your going alone,” I repeated. “O! I know the way perfectly,” she said, in the same flurried manner, “perfectly, thank you. And it is close at hand. Goodbye.” She jumped lightly out of the carriage, and the train started on again at the same instant. We were busy enough, as you may suppose. In five minutes more we should be in Euston-square, and there was nearly fifteen minutes’ work still to be done. Spite of the enjoyment he had afforded me, I mentally anathematised Mr. Huntingdon and his departure from ordinary rules, and, thrusting Miss Clifton forcibly out of my thoughts, I set to work with a will, gathered up the registered letters for London, tied them into a bundle with the paper bill, and then turned to the corner of the counter for the despatch-box. You have guessed already my cursed misfortune. The Premier’s despatch-box was not there. For the first minute or so I was in nowise alarmed, and merely looked round, upon the floor, under the bags, into the boxes, into any place into which it could have fallen or been deposited. We reached Euston-square while I was still searching, and losing more and more of my composure every instant. Tom Morville joined me in my quest, and felt every bag which had been made up and sealed. The box was no small article which could go into little compass; it was certainly twelve inches long, and more than that in girth. But it turned up nowhere. I never felt nearer fainting than at that moment. “Could Miss Clifton have carried it off?” suggested Tom Morville. “No,” I said, indignantly but thoughtfully, “she couldn’t have carried off such a bulky thing as that, without our seeing it. It would not go into one of our pockets, Tom, and she wore a tight-fitting jacket that would not conceal anything.”