"'Finder is keeper. This coat dont belong to me, and the money neither. It is nobodies buisness who they belonged to before. I put the money inside here becaus it is a place no one would ever look and I am taken a gamblers chanse on geting it back some day. Stranger things have happened. Something tells me that they are going to get me soon, and I dont want them to cop this stuff. It was hard earned. Mighty hard. I am hereby trusting to luck. I leave this coat with my neighbor, Mr. Debosky, so in case they get me, they wont get it when they search my room. My neighber is an honest man. He dont know what I am and he dont know about this money. If anybody has to find it I hope it will be him. Maybe they wont get me after all so all this writing is in vain. But Im taken no chance on that, and Im willing to take a chance on this stuff getting back to me somehow. I will say this before closing. The money belonged to people in various parts of the country and they could all afford to lose it, espeshilly the doctor. He is a bigger robber than I am, only he lets people see him get away with it. If this should fall into the hands of the police I want them to believe me when I say my neighber, a little forreigner who plays the violin till it brings tears to my eyes, has no hand in this business. I am simply asking him to take care of my coat and wear it till I call for it, whenever that may be. And the following remarks is for him. If he finds this dough, he can keep it and use as much of it as he sees fit. I would sooner he had it than anybody, because he is poorer than anybody. And what he dont know wont hurt him. I mean what he dont know about who the stuff belonged to in the beginning. Being of sound mind and so fourth I hereby subscribe myself, in the year of our lord, September 26, 1912. "HENRY LOVELESS." "How very extraordinary," said Mr. Bramble after a long silence. "Nearly five thousand dollars," said M. Mirabeau. "What will you do with it, de Bosky?" The little violinist passed his hand over his brow, as if to clear away the last vestige of perplexity. "There is but one thing to do, my friends," he said slowly, straightening up and facing them. "You will understand, of course, that I cannot under any circumstances possess myself of this stolen property." Another silence ensued. "Certainly not," said Mr. Bramble at last. "It would be impossible," said M. Mirabeau, sighing.