“Did he ever put on your clothes—that is, wear them when you were not using them yourself?” “Oh, yes; the beggar had impudence enough for anything.” “And your jewellery, and watch, too, I suppose?” “Well, I don’t know as to that—perhaps he did. I could believe him capable of anything that was impudent—coolest rascal I ever met. I tell you, Mr—Mr—Mr M^cFadden—I beg your pardon, M^cGadden—ah, I’m not good at remembering names—I tell you, I’ve an idea; just struck me, and you’re as welcome to it as if it were your own. P’r’aps that rascal Atkinson has ordered those things, and got them when they were sent home. Rather smart of me to think of that, eh?” “Very smart,” I answered, with great emphasis, while his valet grinned behind a coat. “The affinity of great minds is shown in the fact that the same idea struck me. Can you help me to Atkinson’s present address?” He could. Although he had been wearied and disgusted with the fellow himself, he had not only given Atkinson a written character of a high order, but personally recommended him to one of his acquaintances with whom, he presumed, the man was still serving. I took down the address and left for Moray Place, taking the lad Price with me. When we came to the house a most distinguished-looking individual opened the door—much haughtier and more dignified than a Lord of State—and while he was answering my inquiries, the lad Price gave me a suggestive nudge. When I quickly turned in reply and bent my ear, he whispered— “That’s like the man that took the parcel from me at Whitmore’s.” “Like him? Can you swear it is him?” The lad took another steady look at the haughty flunkey, and finally shook his head and said, “No, I cannot swear to him, but it is like him.” The haughty individual was John Atkinson, formerly valet to Mr Whitmore. A few questions, a second look at the lad Price, and one naming of Mr Ward the jeweller, disturbed his highness greatly, but failed to draw from him anything but the most indignant protestations of innocence. I decided to risk the matter and take him with me. He insisted upon me first searching his room and turning over all his possessions, to show that none of the articles were in his keeping. I felt certain of his guilt. There was in his manner an absence of that flurry and excitement with which the innocent always greet an accusation of the kind; but his cool request as to searching made me a little doubtful of bringing the charge home to him. It convinced me, at least, that the articles themselves were far beyond our reach. From this I reasoned that they had not been procured for the ordinary purposes of robbery—that is, to be sold or turned into money. The buyer had said that they were intended as a present for a lady: could it be possible that he had told the truth?