After Berneri's usual "No good! Bad express!" the boy modifies his original notion, and stirs in a little dignified truculence with the facial ingredients he used at first. "Ah, no good--no good! Bad express--more badder express!"--as one can now almost hear the excitable Berneri shouting. The boy abates his truculence, and without altogether abandoning the frown, tries a look of half-amused and quite uncomprehending inquiry, which is, perhaps, justified by the circumstances. This, again, is "no good express," and by this time the operator has grown impatient and amusing; the boy begins actually to smile; and at last there is a _real_ smile--some might say it verged on an amused grin. This boy, by-the-bye, is now Mr. Elliott, jun.--still of Elliott and Fry, and six feet six inches high. [Illustration: 4.] Berneri has betaken himself to a well-earned retirement in Italy--he retired, in fact, some years ago. But, excellent operator as he was, he will be remembered in the profession for some time--if only because of his wildly despairing entreaties for "Good express--now, if you _please_--good express!" But it is bad enough when your English is of full vocabulary. Why is it no part of our English boy's education to know what a naturally pleasant expression of countenance is? Why can he see no middle course between an aspect of warlike grimness and a self-conscious grin? I am thinking, seriously thinking, of cultivating Signor Berneri's manner and speech for special use--with boy sitters. I may even spoil more plates than I do at present--although that is scarcely possible--but the smile--or grin--which I extract will, at least, be intelligent, because it will have a definite object--myself. [Illustration: 5.] _Martin Hewitt, Investigator._ THE LENTON CROFT ROBBERIES.