The woman scanned me quickly with some suspicion, I thought, but noticing, I supposed, that although a working-man I seemed highly respectable, replied bluntly, in a pronounced Lancashire dialect,-- "Yes, I do. What may you want with him?" "I want to see him on some important business," was my vague reply. "Is he at home?" "No, he ain't," was the woman's response. "Mr Denton lodges with me, but 'e's up in London just now, and 'e's been there this four months." "In London!" I exclaimed. "Yes, but I don't know his address. When he goes away 'e never leaves it. He's lodged with me this two years, but I don't think 'e's been here more than six months altogether the whole time." "Then you have a lot of letters for him, I suppose?" "Yes, quite a lot," answered the good woman. The letter sent by the dead man might be among them! "It was about a letter that I wanted to see Mr Denton--about a registered letter. I've come from London on purpose." "From London!" ejaculated the woman, a stout, good-humoured person. "Yes. I wonder whether you'd mind me looking at the letters, if it is among them I'd know he had not received it. The fact is," I added in confidence, "there's a big lawsuit pending, and if he hasn't got the letter then the other side can't take any action against him." "Then you're on his side?" she asked shrewdly. "Of course I am. I came down to explain matters to him. If I can ascertain that he didn't get the letter then that's all I want. I'm a stranger, I know," I added, "but as it is in Mr Denton's interest I don't think you'll refuse." She hesitated, saying she thought she ought to ask her husband when he returned from the mill. But by assuring her of her lodger's peril, and that I had to catch the six-thirty train back to London, I at last induced her to admit me to the house, and there in the small, clean, front parlour which was given over to her lodger when he was there, she took a quantity of letters from a cupboard and placed them before me. Among the accumulated correspondence were quite a number of registered letters, and several little packets which most likely contained articles of value. While I chatted with the woman with affected carelessness, pretending to be on very friendly terms with her lodger, I quickly fixed upon the letter in question, a registered envelope directed in a man's educated hand, and bearing the Blandford post-mark. In order, however, to divert her attention, I took up another letter, declaring that to be the important one, and that the fact of his not having received it was sufficient to prevent the action being brought. "I'm very glad of that," she declared in satisfaction. "Mr Denton is such a quiet gentleman. When he's here he hardly ever goes out, but sits here reading and writing all day." "Yes," I agreed, "he's very studious--always was--but a very excellent friend. One of the very best." "So my husband always says. We only wish he was here more."