He scorned to throw responsibility on an unknown company, while, with only one exception, to no other breast than his own would he confide the secrets of his transactions. That exception was the breast of Roger Kyffin. Roger Kyffin placed the open folio before his principal, and produced a paper with the remarks he had made respecting certain entries. "Bad!" observed Stephen Coppinger, as he ran his eye over the book and paper; "but see, these letters bring worse news. The `Belmont Castle' has been taken by the enemy. The `Tiger' has foundered during a hurricane in the West Indies. Jecks Tarbett and Simmons have failed; their debt is a large one. Hunter and Dove's affairs are in an unsatisfactory condition. I don't like Joseph Hudson's proceedings in Change Alley; he yesterday begged that I would renew his bill. In truth, Roger Kyffin, unless matters improve..." A groan escaped from Stephen Coppinger's bosom. "The amount you require must be raised," observed Roger Kyffin, taking half a turn across the room. "Leave that to me. You have so often aided friends in need, that I anticipate no difficulty in obtaining help." "It will be from no want of exertion on your part if you fail," said Stephen Coppinger, brightening up slightly. "Keep up your spirits, sir," said Roger Kyffin. "The credit of your firm will not suffer, depend on that. I will now set out and see what can be done. I hope to bring satisfactory intelligence before evening." Saying this, Roger Kyffin left the room, carefully closing the door behind him. While putting on his spencer and hat, he intimated to his principal subordinate, Mr. Silas Sleech, that he should probably be absent for some hours. Mr. Sleech glanced after him with a pair of meaningless eyes, set in an immovable countenance, and saying, "Oh, very well," went on with his work. More respecting Mr. Silas Sleech and his doings may possibly be mentioned. CHAPTER TWO. IN WHICH SEVERAL PERSONAGES ARE INTRODUCED. Roger Kyffin took his way westward. As soon as he had got out of the crowded thoroughfares, he called a coach, for in those days walking in London was a more fatiguing operation than at present. The progress of the vehicle, however, in which he took his seat was not very rapid. It was a large and lumbering affair, drawn by a pair of broken-down hacks, the asthmatic cough of one keeping in countenance the shattered knees of the other. At length he reached the door of a substantial mansion in the middle of Clifford Street. The bell was answered by a servant in sober livery.