Messrs. Marston and Brooks read it and chuckled. The link was broken. The stories about Smith and Co. told by George were disbelieved, and, as George Heritage had been proved to be the author of the series of forgeries on the banks, there was an end to inquiry. The slate of Smith and Co. was wiped clean by the arrest and condemnation of their clerk, and they might begin again. Never was there such a stroke of luck as the burglary business. Without it George’s story might have led to serious inquiries. As it was it would be unwise to start in business again on the same lines, thought Marston, and luckily there was no necessity, for a far more brilliant scheme was on the _tapis_, the success of which would enable Smith and Co. to dissolve, and trade with their capital in a less dangerous manner. Josh Heckett heard the result through young Mr. Knivett, and the worthy pair drank George’s health in a bumper. ‘Reg’ler bad un he must be, Josh, for to break into his own father’s ‘ouse, mustn’t he?’ said Mr. Boss. ‘Orful,’ answered Josh. ‘But there, it’s what them preaching coves sez about the sarpent and the ungrateful child. There’s my young un as is gone away and left her poor old grandfather, the jade! and I dunno where she is no more than the man in the moon.’ ‘Is that why you’ve moved, and given up the animals, Josh?’ ‘Yes, it is,’ answered Josh. ‘I couldn’t attend to that business myself, and, the starf of my old age bein’ broke, I had to retire into private life.’ ‘Werry private, eh, Josh?’ said Mr. Boss, with a grin. ‘Wanted a breath o’ fresh air, didn’t ye, old man, and went into the country for to git it, and got it?’ Josh Heckett laughed, and told his young friend to ‘cheese his patter and sling his hook.’ Which Mr. Boss, translating as instructions to hold his tongue and go, proceeded to obey with alacrity. Heckett didn’t allow any nonsense from his juniors, and he considered Boss much too flighty and flippant ever to make a sound man of business. After Boss was gone, Heckett, who now occupied two rooms in a little house over the water, went out and walked down to his old place in Little Queer Street. He still kept it on, locking the rooms and going there occasionally to look after it. He had only taken enough of his furniture away to fill his rooms. There were still several old boxes and bundles and odds and ends left. And all these were piled in one room—the back one. Pushing a box and a heap of rubbish away, Josh had brought a lantern from the inner room and lit it, stooped down, and lifted the trap in the flooring. It was so well contrived, and the dust and dirt lay over it so thickly and well, that no one would suspect its presence unless accident, as in Gertie’s case, revealed it. To lift the board Heckett had to insert the blade of his knife and force it up. When it was open he stooped over, carefully holding the light, and lifted up something near the top. It was only a small bundle of letters and some papers.