The rogue, my master, knew what belonged to the goldsmiths’ bills well enough, and I observed, when he read the bill of Sir Stephen, he said, “This is too big for me to meddle with;” but when he came to the bill £12, 10s., he said to me, “This will do. Come hither, Jacque;” so away he runs to Lombard Street, and I after him, huddling the other papers into the letter-case. As he went along he inquired the name out immediately, and went directly to the shop, put on a good, grave countenance, and had the money paid him without any stop or question asked. I stood on the other side the way looking about the street, as not at all concerned with anybody that way, but observed that when he presented the bill he pulled out the letter-case, as if he had been a merchant’s boy, acquainted with business, and had other bills about him. They paid him the money in gold, and he made haste enough in telling it over, and came away, passing by me, and going into Three King Court, on the other side of the way; then we crossed back into Clement’s Lane, made the best of our way to Cole Harbour, at the water-side, and got a sculler for a penny to carry us over the water to St. Mary Overy’s stairs, where we landed, and were safe enough. Here he turns to me; “Colonel Jacque,” says he, “I believe you are a lucky boy; this is a good job. We’ll go away to St. George’s Fields and share our booty.” Away we went to the Fields, and sitting down in the grass, far enough out of the path, he pulled out the money. “Look here, Jacque,” says he, “did you ever see the like before in your life?” “No, never,” says I; and added very innocently, “Must we have it all?” “We have it!” says he, “who should have it?” “Why,” says I, “must the man have none of it again that lost it?” “He have it again!” says he. “What d’ye mean by that?” “Nay, I don’t know,” says I. “Why, you said just now you would let him have the t’other bill again, that you said was too big for you.” He laughed at me. “You are but a little boy,” says he, “that’s true, but I thought you had not been such a child neither;” so he mighty gravely explained the thing to me thus: that the bill of Sir Stephen Evans was a great bill for £300, “and if I,” says he, “that am but a poor lad, should venture to go for the money, they will presently say, how should I come by such a bill, and that I certainly found it or stole it; so they will stop me,” says he, “and take it away from me, and it may bring me into trouble for it too; so,” says he, “I did say it was too big for me to meddle with, and that I would let the man have it again, if I could tell how. But for the money, Jacque, the money that we have got, I warrant you he should have none of that. Besides,” says he, “whoever he be that has lost this letter-case, to be sure, as soon as he missed it, he would run to the goldsmith and give notice that if anybody came for the money they would be stopped; but I am too old for him there,” says he.