John Brancker had not been gone more than ten minutes before Ephraim wiped his pen and laid it down. Then he sat perfectly still for a few moments, listening intently with those large, flexible ears of his. Nothing was to be heard save, now and then, the footsteps of someone passing in the street. With a hop and a skip, Ephraim was off his stool and at the door. Long practice had enabled him to turn the handle noiselessly. Holding the door half open, he waited and listened again. Sweet was probably downstairs getting his supper. A moment later Ephraim was on one knee against Mr. Hazeldine's door, and peering through the keyhole. In his india rubber overshoes he moved without a sound. He kept his eye to the keyhole for about a couple of minutes, and then he went back noiselessly to his own office. "He doesn't seem to have much to do that need keep him so late," muttered Ephraim to himself. "I wonder what he's thinking about. He's got something on his mind, I'm positive he has. He's not the same man he was half a year ago." While speaking thus he drew from one of his pockets a steel ring, on which were strung about a dozen keys. Selecting one of them, he inserted it into the lock of John Brancker's drawer, which it opened as easily as the proper key could have done. A crafty smile lighted up Ephraim's thin, sallow face as his fingers gripped the handle of the drawer. He pulled, but the drawer stuck and would only open to the extent of a few inches. A little patience would have remedied this, but Ephraim was in a hurry; Obed Sweet might come his rounds at any moment, so into the drawer went his long, lean fingers in search of the letter. Now, John Brancker was in the habit of using a quill pen nearly as often as he used a steel one, and in his drawer was an office-knife, almost as sharp as a razor, which he used for the making and mending of the former. Ephraim never thought about the knife till his hand came in contact with the blade, a gash being the immediate result. He drew back his hand with an exclamation of pain, but not till the contents of the drawer had been sprinkled with sundry drops of blood. At this moment Sweet's premonitory cough was audible, and then the door was opened, and his head protruded into the room. Ephraim was obliged to stand still and let his wounded hand hang by his side. "Not gone yet, sir?" said Sweet. "No, but I'm just about done, and shall be off in a few minutes," answered Mr. Judd. "All right, sir," responded Sweet. "The Guv'nor seems as if he was going to stick at it late to-night," he added. And with that he went on to talk of the weather, and lingered for fully five minutes before he finally went.