“'That's about it,' says I. “We talked a bit about old acquaintances and other things, and then, having finished, he handed me a sovereign and rose to go. “'Wait a minute,' I says, 'your bill comes to three-and-eight. Say fourpence for the waiter; that leaves sixteen shillings change, which I'll ask you to put in your pocket.' “'As you will,' he says, laughing, though I could see he didn't like it. “'And one other thing,' says I. 'We've been sort of pals, and it's not my business to talk unless I'm spoken to. But I'm a married man,' I says, 'and I don't consider you the sort worth getting into trouble for. If I never see you, I know nothing about you. Understand?' “He took my tip, and I didn't see him again at that restaurant. I kept my eye on the paper, but the Westminster Bank thief was never discovered, and success, no doubt, gave him confidence. Anyhow, I read of two or three burglaries that winter which I unhesitatingly put down to Mr. Joseph--I suppose there's style in housebreaking, as in other things--and early the next spring an exciting bit of business occurred, which I knew to be his work by the description of the man. “He had broken into a big country house during the servants' supper-hour, and had stuffed his pockets with jewels. One of the guests, a young officer, coming upstairs, interrupted him just as he had finished. Joseph threatened the man with his revolver; but this time it was not a nervous young clerk he had to deal with. The man sprang at him, and a desperate struggle followed, with the result that in the end the officer was left with a bullet in his leg, while Joseph jumped clean through the window, and fell thirty feet. Cut and bleeding, if not broken, he would never have got away but that, fortunately for him, a tradesman's cart happened to be standing at the servants' entrance. Joe was in it, and off like a flash of greased lightning. How he managed to escape, with all the country in an uproar, I can't tell you; but he did it. The horse and cart, when found sixteen miles off, were neither worth much. “That, it seems, sobered him down for a bit, and nobody heard any more of him till nine months later, when he walked into the Monico, where I was then working, and held out his hand to me as bold as brass. “'It's all right,' says he, 'it's the hand of an honest man.' “'It's come into your possession very recently then,' says I. “He was dressed in a black frock-coat and wore whiskers. If I hadn't known him, I should have put him down for a parson out of work. “He laughs. 'I'll tell you all about it,' he says. “'Not here,' I answers, 'because I'm too busy; but if you like to meet me this evening, and you're talking straight--' “'Straight as a bullet,' says he. 'Come and have a bit of dinner with me at the Craven; it's quiet there, and we can talk. I've been looking for you for the last week.'