The sick man shook his head, and then broke out into a violent fit of coughing. "It's pulling me to pieces," he said, when he could recover himself; "but I shall be happier if I can just tell you, Thomas, what's on my mind. It ain't about any of the wicked things as I've done, but I shall be better content when I've told you all about it. You remember the night as poor Joe Wright met his death on the line last December? Well, I'd summat to do with that." "You, Ned!" "Nay, Thomas, I don't mean as I'd any hand in killing him--it were his own doing; but I were mixed up with the matter in a way, and I thought I'd tell you all about it, as you're a prudent man as won't go talking about it; and I shall get it off my mind, for it's been a-troubling me for months past." "Go on, Ned." "Well, then, it were that same evening, two days afore Christmas-day, I were coming home from my work; and just as I were passing the Railway Inn I sees a bag lying on the step just outside the front door of the public." "A what?" exclaimed Bradly, half rising from his seat. "But go on--all right," he added, noticing the sick man's surprise at his sudden question. "A bag," continued the other. "It were a shabby sort of bag, and I thought it most likely belonged to Ebenezer Potts, for I'd often seen him carrying a bag like it: you know Ebenezer's a joiner, and he used to carry his tools with him in just such a bag. So I says to myself, `I'll have a bit of fun with Ebenezer. I'll carry off his bag, and leave it by-and-by on his own door-step when it's dark; won't he just be in a fuss when he comes out of the public and misses it! I shall hear such a story about it next day.' For you know, Thomas, Eben's a fussy sort of chap, and he'd be roaring like a town-crier after his bag. It were a foolish thing to do, but I only meant to have a bit of a game. So I carries off the bag, and turns into the Green Dragon on my way home to have a pint of ale. "There was two or three of our set there, and one says to me, `What have you got there, Ned?'--`It's Eben Potts's bag of tools,' says I; `I found it lying on the step of the Railway Inn while he went in to get a pint. I shall leave it at his own door in a bit; but won't he just make a fine to-do when he misses it!'--`It'll be grand,' said one of them, and they all set up a laugh.--`Let me look at the bag,' said poor Joe Wright, who'd been staring at it. I hands it to him. `Why,' says he, `'tain't Eben's bag after all.'--`Not his bag!' cries I, in a fright.--`Nothing of the sort,' says he; `I knows his bag quite well. Besides, just feel the weight of it; there's no tools in this bag.'--`Well, it _did_ strike me,' says I, `as it were very light. What's to be done now? They'll be after me for stealing a bag. I wonder what's in it? Not much, I'm sure; just a few shirts and pocket-handkerchers, or some other gents' things, I dessay.'