“Nay, Doctor,” whispered the landlord, who was a friend of his, “the fellow is a brawler--he will involve you in a quarrel before you reach the Strand.” “Nevertheless, I will go, my friend,” said Oliver. “The lady has laid it upon me as a duty, and I must obey her at all hazards.” He got into the coach, and shouted out the address to the driver. CHAPTER XXV. The instant he had seated himself he found to his amazement that the man beside him was fast asleep. To look at him lying in a heap on the cushions one might have fancied that he had been sleeping for hours rather than minutes, so composed was he. Even the jolting of the starting coach made no impression upon him. Goldsmith perceived that the moment for which he had been longing had arrived. He felt that if he meant to get the letters into his possession he must act at once. He passed his hand over the man's waistcoat, and had no difficulty in detecting the exact whereabouts of the packet which he coveted. All he had to do was to unbutton the waistcoat, thrust his hand into the pocket, and then leave the coach while it was still in motion. The moment that he touched the first button, however, the man shifted his position, and awoke, putting his hand, as if mechanically, to his breast to feel that the wallet was still there. Then he straightened himself in some measure and began to mumble, apparently being quite unaware of the fact that some one was seated beside him. “Dear madam, you do me great honour,” he said, and then gave a little hiccupping laugh. “Great honour, I swear; but if you were to offer me all the guineas in the treasure chest of the regiment I would not give you the plan of the fort. No, madam, I am a man of honour, and I hold the documents for Colonel Washington. Oh, the fools that girls are to put pen to paper! But if she was a fool she did not write the letters to a fool. Oh, no, no! I would accept no price for them--no price whatever except your own fair self. Come to me, my charmer, at sunset, and they shall be yours; yes, with a hundred guineas, or I print them. Oh, Ned, my lad, there's no honester way of living than by selling a wench her own letters. No, no; Ned, I'll not leave 'em behind me in the drawer, in case of accidents. I'll carry 'em about with me in case of accidents, for I know how sharp you are, dear Ned; and so when I had 'em in the pocket of my cloak I thought it as well to transfer 'em--in case of accidents, Ned--to my waistcoat, sir. Ay, they're here! here, my friend! and here they'll stay till Colonel Washington hands me over his dollars for them.” Then he slapped his breast, and laughed the horrible laugh of a drunken man whose hallucination is that he is the shrewdest fellow alive.