It was about a year later that I first got mixed up with the thing. I must have dined with the Andrews several times without noticing the cigar-case, but on this occasion it caught my eye as we wandered out to join the ladies, and I picked it up carelessly. Well, not exactly carelessly; it was too heavy for that. "Why didn't you tell me," I said, "that you had stood for Parliament and that your supporters had consoled you with a large piece of plate? Hallo, they've put the wrong initials on it. How unbusiness-like." "Oh, _that_?" said Andrew. "Is it still there?" "Why not? It's quite a solid little table. But you haven't explained why your constituents, who must have seen your name on hundreds of posters, thought your initials were E. M. W." Andrew explained. "Then it isn't yours at all?" I said in amazement. "Of course not." "But, my dear man, this is theft. Stealing by finding, they call it. You could get"--I looked at him almost with admiration--"you could get two years for this;" and I weighed the cigar-case in my hand. "I believe you're the only one of my friends who could be certain of two years," I went on musingly. "Let's see, there's----" "Nonsense," said Andrew uneasily. "But still, perhaps I'd better take it back to Scotland Yard to-morrow." "And tell them you've kept it for a year? They'd run you in at once. No, what you want to do is to get rid of it without their knowledge. But how--that's the question. You can't give it away because of the initials." "It's easy enough. I can leave it in another cab, or drop it in the river." "Andrew, Andrew," I cried, "you're determined to go to prison! Don't you know from all the humorous articles you've ever read that, if you _try_ to lose anything, then you never can? It's one of the stock remarks one makes to women in the endeavour to keep them amused. No, you must think of some more subtle way of disposing of it." "I'll pretend it's yours," said Andrew more subtly, and he placed it in my pocket. "No, you don't," I said. "But I tell you what I will do. I'll take it for a week and see if I can get rid of it. If I can't, I shall give it you back and wash my hands of the whole business--except, of course, for the monthly letter or whatever it is they allow you at the Scrubbs. You may still count on me for that." And then the extraordinary thing happened. The next morning I received a letter from a stranger, asking for some simple information which I could have given him on a post-card. And so I should have done--or possibly, I am afraid, have forgotten to answer at all--but for the way that the letter ended up. "_Yours very truly_, _ERNEST M. WOOLMAN._" The magic initials! It was a chance not to be missed. I wrote enthusiastically back and asked him to lunch. He came. I gave him all the information he wanted, and lots more. Whether he was a pleasant sort of person or not I hardly noticed; I was so very pleasant myself.