“I have thought well over the matter, your honour, and I believe we can manage to trounce the rascals--for I agree with you, that there is not a doubt that Thornton and Dawson are the real criminals; but the affair, Sir, is one of the greatest difficulty and importance--nay, of the greatest personal danger. My life may be the forfeit of my desire to serve you--you will not, therefore, be surprised at my accepting your liberal offer of three hundred a year, should I be successful; although I do assure you, Sir, that it was my original intention to reject all recompence, for I am naturally benevolent, and love doing a good action. Indeed, Sir, if I were alone in the world, I should scorn any remuneration, for virtue is its own reward; but a real moralist, your honour, must not forget his duties on any consideration, and I have a little family to whom my loss would be an irreparable injury; this, upon my honour, is my only inducement for taking advantage of your generosity;” and as the moralist ceased, he took out of his waistcoat pocket a paper, which he handed to me with his usual bow of deference. I glanced over it--it was a bond, apparently drawn up in all the legal formalities, pledging myself, in case Job Jonson, before the expiration of three days, gave that information which should lead to the detection and punishment of the true murderers of Sir John Tyrrell, deceased, to ensure to the said Job Jonson the yearly annuity of three hundred pounds. “It is with much pleasure that I shall sign this paper,” said I; “but allow me (par parenthese) to observe, that since you only accept the annuity for the sake of benefiting your little family, in case of your death, this annuity, ceasing with your life, will leave your children as pennyless as at present.” “Pardon me, your honour,” rejoined Job, not a whit daunted at the truth of my remark, “I can insure!” “I forgot that,” said I, signing, and restoring the paper; “and now to business.” Jonson gravely and carefully looked over the interesting document I returned to him, and carefully lapping it in three envelopes, inserted it in a huge red pocket-book, which he thrust into an innermost pocket in his waistcoat. “Right, Sir,” said he, slowly, “to business. Before I begin, you must, however, promise me, upon your honour as a gentleman, the strictest secrecy, as to my communications.” I readily agreed to this, so far as that secrecy did not impede my present object; and Job being content with this condition, resumed. “You must forgive me, if, in order to arrive at the point in question, I set out from one which may seem to you a little distant.” I nodded my assent, and Job continued.