_Iden._ No--not _you_, But some of the inferior knaves. You say The Baron was asleep in the great chair-- The velvet chair--in his embroidered night-gown; His toilet spread before him, and upon it A cabinet with letters, papers, and Several rouleaux of gold; of which _one_ only Has disappeared:--the door unbolted, with No difficult access to any. _Fritz_. Good sir, Be not so quick; the honour of the corps 40 Which forms the Baron's household's unimpeached From steward to scullion, save in the fair way Of peculation; such as in accompts, Weights, measures, larder, cellar, buttery, Where all men take their prey; as also in Postage of letters, gathering of rents, Purveying feasts, and understanding with The honest trades who furnish noble masters[cq]; But for your petty, picking, downright thievery, We scorn it as we do board wages. Then 50 Had one of our folks done it, he would not Have been so poor a spirit as to hazard His neck for _one_ rouleau, but have swooped all; Also the cabinet, if portable. _Iden._ There is some sense in that---- _Fritz_. No, Sir, be sure 'Twas none of our corps; but some petty, trivial Picker and stealer, without art or genius. The only question is--Who else could have Access, save the Hungarian and yourself? _Iden._ You don't mean me? _Fritz_. No, sir; I honour more 60 Your talents---- _Iden._ And my principles, I hope. _Fritz_. Of course. But to the point: What's to be done? _Iden._ Nothing--but there's a good deal to be said. We'll offer a reward; move heaven and earth, And the police (though there's none nearer than Frankfort); post notices in manuscript (For we've no printer); and set by my clerk To read them (for few can, save he and I). We'll send out villains to strip beggars, and Search empty pockets; also, to arrest 70 All gipsies, and ill-clothed and sallow people. Prisoners we'll have at least, if not the culprit; And for the Baron's gold--if 'tis not found, At least he shall have the full satisfaction Of melting twice its substance in the raising The ghost of this rouleau. Here's alchemy For your Lord's losses! _Fritz_. He hath found a better. _Iden._ _Where?_ _Fritz_. In a most immense inheritance. The late Count Siegendorf, his distant kinsman, Is dead near Prague, in his castle, and my Lord 80 Is on his way to take possession. _Iden._ Was there No heir?