The captain gave no chance till Greenside was reached. There a tobacconist’s window had been done out with fountains and grottoes, and real flowing water, as a Christmas decoration, and the crowd around it attracted the captain, and drew a sigh of profound thankfulness from the breast of Tommy Tait. The captain was amused and interested, and pressed closer; Tommy helped him diligently. Looking hard at the window and laughing consumedly, Tommy got his fingers under the pilot coat and touched the chronometer. The absence of a chain was a sore trial to his skill, but at length he got the chamois leather cover between his fingers, and had the whole out and into his own pocket like lightning. But, alas, the thing had been so roughly done, that Tommy was actually ashamed of his own clumsy work. He felt that the captain had started suspiciously and looked him full in the face, and he concluded that it was time to go. He moved off as unconcernedly as possible for about twenty yards, when the thrilling shout of the captain fell on his ears, and almost stopped the beating of his heart— “Hi! you! thief!—stop thief!” Tommy heard no more. Whatever he lacked, he could run with great swiftness, and that wild cry, and the thought of the powerful limbs of the man who emitted the words, made him put on his most desperate pace. He dived for the Low Calton, in which he managed to burrow successfully, while the crowd, led by the captain and a policeman who had joined, ran on and did not halt till the foot of Leith Wynd was reached. Not a trace of the fugitive was to be found, and the captain, quite breathless with the race, exclaimed resignedly— “Oh, what a fool I’ve been! Well, that’s the last I’ll see of my chronometer.” The policeman, by a question or two, elicited the fact that the captain had got a good look at the thief, and promptly advised him to go up to the Central Office and report the case, assuring him that it was by no means uncommon, when a case was thus quickly reported, for us to recover the stolen property in a few hours. This friendly exaggeration sent the captain up to the Central, when it became necessary for me to tone down his hopes a little. By the description given of the thief, I recognised Tommy Tait unmistakably, for Tommy had certain peculiarities of ugliness about his figure-head which, once seen, were always remembered, and I firmly assured the captain that I could easily lay hands on the nimble pickpocket in an hour’s time; but as to recovering the watch, that was altogether a different matter. I could not pledge myself to that. “Why, it’s the chronometer I want,” exclaimed the bluff seaman, looking quite aghast. “I’ll give twenty pounds this minute to the man who puts it into my hands safe and sound. What do I care for the blessed thief? Though you got him and gave him twenty years on the treadmill, that wouldn’t do me a bit of good.”