I knew very little of the old porter, but, had I put my impressions of him against my knowledge of Bess, her statements would at once have kicked the beam. Still I could not deny that the taint of Pat’s conviction and sentence extended in a certain sense to his relatives, and my duty was to act on any hint, however meagre, so that I decided to visit Corny the same night, at an hour when he was likely to be at home and in bed. I got there at ten o’clock, and was frankly received by his daughter, who told me he had a late job, and would not be in for an hour or so. She was preparing his supper, so I decided to accept her offer and sit down by the fire till he came. In the ordinary course of events Corny should have appeared, bearing his undelivered load, about eleven o’clock, and this had probably been calculated upon, but I waited till midnight, and much to the concern of Annie his daughter, no Corny appeared. How that happened was simple enough, though not in the programme. Corny was slowly trailing through Argyle Square with his load, on his way home, when he chanced to be met by M^cSweeny. My chum was in a good humour, for he had been spending a night jovially at a friend’s, where a widow had made a dead set at him; and M^cSweeny’s joy arose from the fact that at the last moment he had ingeniously saddled the widow on to an unsuspicious friend, while my chum took his way home in happy freedom alone. But though elated and exultant, at peace with all the world, and trying his best to merrily whistle “The Poor Married Man,” M^cSweeny’s duty was not so far from his mind as to allow him to pass Corny and the big bundle at such an hour. “Stop, you!” he imperatively commanded. “What’s that you’re carrying on your back? and where are you going with it?” “It’s some chany and crystal I got to carry over to the New Town, and I couldn’t find the place, so I’m taking it home,” said Corny. M^cSweeny suspiciously poked his fingers into the bundle, but could feel nothing like china or crystal. “It’s uncommon soft,” he said, with a grunt. “Who gave it to you to carry?” “The gintleman.” “The gintleman, ye blockhead; hasn’t he got a name?” said M^cSweeny wrathfully. “He has; it’s written on that paper; but I couldn’t find him when I took the load back.” “I daresay not,” said M^cSweeny, dryly. “Well, you’ll need to come up to the Office wid me, till we see what’s in the bundle.” “I’m an honest man,” said Corny indignantly. “Do you take me for a thafe?” “Well, you don’t look like one of my bairns,” said M^cSweeny, in imitation of me; “but you’ll have to trot all the same. Mebbe you don’t know that I’m M^cSweeny, the detective, that all the books has been writ about?” “I know the other one,” said Corny simply. “M^cGovan’ll spake a good word for me.” “You’ll not need that if your bundle’s all right,” was the lofty reply, and to the Office they went.