been produced by Mr Ward’s languid but agreeable customer months before. “I wish to see Mr Ward,” said the new comer, evidently as ignorant of the jeweller’s appearance as that gentleman was of his. “I am Mr Ward, sir,” was the reply; and then the stranger brought out some papers, from which he selected Mr Ward’s account for the articles of jewellery, which he placed before the astonished tradesman, with the words— “I am Mr Whitmore, and this account has been sent to me by mistake. It would have been checked sooner, but it happened that I was away in Paris when it was sent, and as I was expected home they did not trouble to forward the paper.” The jeweller stared at his visitor. He was a young man, and wore Dundreary whiskers, and had on his fingers just such rings as Mr Ward remembered seeing on the hand of his customer, but there was not the slightest resemblance of features. “You Mr Samuel Whitmore?” he vacantly echoed, picking up the card of the gentleman, and mentally asking himself whether he was dreaming or awake. “Mr Samuel Whitmore,” calmly answered the gentleman. “Son of Mr Whitmore of Castleton Lee?” “The same, sir.” “Then you have a brother, I suppose?” stammered the jeweller. “There has been a mistake of some kind.” “I have no brother, and never had,” quietly answered his visitor; “and I never bought an article in this shop that I know of, and certainly did not purchase the things which you have here charged against me.” “A gentleman came here—drove up in a cab, just as you have done—and presented a card like this,” said the jeweller, beginning to feel slightly alarmed. “Surely I have not been imposed upon? and yet that is impossible, for the things were safely sent home and delivered at your house.” The gentleman smiled, and shook his head. “I thought it possible that my father might have ordered and received these things,” he politely observed, “but on making inquiry I learned that not only was that not the case, but no such articles ever came near the house.”