About half-past nine Chewkle said, suddenly, that he wanted to make a call at no great distance off, and he thought he might as well go on that business as sit there doing nothing until ten, by which hour he could certainly be again at the office. The clerk said he thought so too. So Chewkle went leisurely away. No sooner out of sight of the office than he jumped into a cab, and drove to his own house, and in a secret place deposited in an iron chest, with other articles of value, the deed he had purloined. He locked the chest safely, and once more made his way to the street, where he hired another cab, rattled back to the neighbourhood of the lawyer’s office, discharged it, and entered the office at three minutes to ten. “Governor not here yet,” said the clerk; “sit down.” Chewkle obeyed, looking vacant; laughing stupidly when the eye of the clerk caught his. “What a pump,” thought the young man. Chewkle felt slightly uneasy, for fear the managing clerk Scathe should make his appearance and recognise him, but he calculated he was engaged at Westminster, in a cause, and would be hunting up witnesses before he made his appearance at the office. As the thought passed through his mind, the door was flung open, and the principal of the firm entered. Chewkle rose up and handed him the letter. “From Mr. Grahame, Regent’s Park,” he said. “Oh!” said the solicitor, with a smile. “An answer?” “Yes, sir.” “Pray be seated. I will give you one immediately.” The clerk handed to his principal the key of his room; he took it, unlocked the door, and, passing in, closed it after him. Chewkle sat and waited for the _dènouèment_, as if he was engaged counting the letters in the printed notices of sittings in term, stuck up over the fireplace. Presently a bell rang, and the clerk entered the room, closing the door after him, Chewkle still reading the printed paper. Some time elapsed. “Somethin’s happened, shouldn’t wonder,” muttered Chewkle, still staring at the printed bill. By and by the clerk made his appearance, and said o Chewkle-- “Step in, please.” He led the way into the inner apartment, and Chewkle saw the solicitor with a flushed face and excited countenance, going through the papers in the box with the name of Grahame painted upon it. “Your name is Chewkle, I believe,” said the solicitor, as Chewkle approached him. “That is my name, and no other, sir,” he replied. “Hem! You were sent hither for a deed by Mr. Grahame--eh?” inquired the lawyer. “A deed, sir--why, he said ’twas to be a paper packet,” returned Chewkle. “Yes--yes. Do you know what the paper was about?” “Me, sir?--no, sir.” “Nor why Mr. Grahame is so anxious to have it?” “Me, sir?--no, sir?” “Um!--very odd--very remarkable, indeed.” “Mr. Scathe must have got it, or put it somewhere,” suggested the clerk.