"She will be here at five. There's nothing suspicious in her coming in to buy a book. It's all been thought out. Most natural thing in the world that she should buy a book, don't you see? Only you must not be buying one at the same time. Now, run along,--lively. Prince de Bosky is with Mirabeau. And don't come down till I give you the word." "See here, Bramble, if you let anything happen to her I'll--" Mr. Bramble relentlessly urged him up the steps. Long before Jane arrived, Trotter was in possession of the details. He was vastly perplexed. "I daresay one of those beastly cousins of mine has trumped up some charge that he figures will put me out of the running for ever," he said gloomily. He sat, slack and dejected, in a corner of the shop farthest removed from the windows. "I shouldn't mind so much if it weren't for Lady Jane. She--you see, M'sieur, she has promised to be my wife. This will hurt her terribly. The beastly curs!" "Sit down!" commanded M. Mirabeau. "You must not go raging up and down past those windows." "Confound you, Mirabeau, he doesn't know this place exists. He never will know unless he follows Lady Jane. I'll do as I jolly well please." De Bosky, inspired, produced a letter he had just received from his friend, the cracksman. He had read it to the bookseller and clockmaker, and now re-read it, with soulful fervour, for the benefit of the new arrival. He interrupted himself to beg M. Mirabeau to unlock the safe and bring forth the treasure. "You see what he says?" cried he, shaking the letter in front of Trotter's eyes. "And here is the money! See! Touch it, my friend. It is real. I thought I was also dreaming. Count them. Begin with this one. Now,--one hundred, two hundred--" "I haven't the remotest idea what you're talking about," said Trotter, staring blankly at the money. "What a fool I am!" cried de Bosky. "I begin at the back-end of the story. How could you know? Have you ever known such a fool as I, Mirabeau?" "Never," said M. Mirabeau, who had his ear cocked for sounds on the stairway. "And so," said the Prince, at the end of the hastily told story of the banknotes and the man up the river, "you see how it is. He replies to my carefully worded letter. Shall I read it again? No? But, I ask you, my dear Trotter, how am I to carry out his instructions? Naturally he is vague. All letters are read at the prison, I am informed. He says: 'And anything you may have come acrosst among my effects is so piffling that I hereby instructs you to burn it up, sos I won't have to be bothered with it when I come out, which ain't fer some time yet, and when I do get out I certainly am not coming to New York, anyhow. I am going west and start all over again. A feller has got a better chance out there.' That is all he has to say about this money, Trotter. I cannot burn it. What am I to do?" Trotter had an inspiration. "Put it into American Tobacco," he said. De Bosky stared. "Tobacco?"