"It's not so much suspicion in a case of this sort, as a wish to satisfy one's self," interrupted the detective. "You seem a gentleman-like young fellow, and you may be all right. I want to know that you are--I'd like to know that you are! It would be no satisfaction to me to fasten this business on you, I can assure you. And if you like to tell me about yourself, and how you came to go to Multenius's--why, it would be as well." "There's not much to tell," answered Lauriston. "I came from Scotland to London, two years ago or thereabouts, to earn my living by writing. I'd a bit of money when I came--I've lived on it till now. I've just begun to earn something. I've been expecting a cheque for some work for these last ten or twelve days, but I was running short last week--so I went to that place to pawn my watch--I saw the young lady there. As my cheque hadn't arrived today, I went there again to pawn those rings I told you about and showed you. And--that's all. Except this--I was advised to go to Multenius's by a relation of theirs, Mr. Rubinstein, who lodges where I do. He knows me." "Oh, Melky Rubinstein!" said Ayscough. "I know Melky--sharp chap he is. He sold me this pin I'm wearing. Well, that seems quite a straightforward tale, Mr. Lauriston. I've no doubt all will be satisfactory. You've friends in London, of course?" "No--none," replied Lauriston. "And scarcely an acquaintance. I've kept to myself--working hard: I've had no time--nor inclination, either--to make friends. Here's the house where I lodge--it's not much of a place, but come in." They had reached Mrs. Flitwick's house by that time, and Mrs. Flitwick herself was in the narrow, shabby passage as they entered. She immediately produced two letters. "Here's two letters for you, Mr. Lauriston," she said, with a sharp glance at Ayscough. "One of 'em's a registered--I did sign for it. So I kept 'em myself, instead of sending 'em up to your room." "Thank you, Mrs. Flitwick," said Lauriston. He took the letters, saw that the writing on the registered envelope was his old friend John Purdie's, and that the other letter was from the magazine to which he had sold his stories, and turned to Ayscough. "Come up to my room," he continued. "We'll talk up there." Ayscough followed him up to his room--once inside, and the door shut, Lauriston tore open the letter from the magazine, and extracted a printed form and a cheque for twenty guineas. He took one look at them and thrust them into the detective's hands. "There!" he said, with a sigh of mingled relief and triumph. "There's a proof of the truth of one statement I made to you! That's the expected cheque I told you of. Excuse me while I look at the other letter."