The hiatus in his correspondence caused Mr. Larkin extreme uneasiness. He had a profound distrust of Captain Lake. In fact, he thought him capable of everything. And if there should turn out to be anything not quite straight going on at the post-office of Gylingden--hitherto an unimpeached institution--he had no doubt whatsoever that that dark and sinuous spirit was at the bottom of it. Still it was too prodigious, and too hazardous to be probable; but the captain had no sort of principle, and a desperately strong head. There was not, indeed, when they met yesterday, the least change or consciousness in the captain's manner. That, in another man, would have indicated something; but Stanley Lake was so deep--such a mask--in him it meant nothing. Mr. Larkin's next step was to apply for a commissioner to come down and investigate. But before he had time to take this step, an occurrence took place to arrest his proceedings. It was the receipt of a foreign letter, of which the following is an exact copy:-- 'VENICE: March 28. 'DEAR LARKIN,--I read a rumour of a dissolution during the recess. Keep a bright look out. Here's three things for you:-- '1. Try and get Tom Wealdon. He is a _sina que non_. [Mark's Latin was sailor-like.] '2. Cash the enclosed order for 150_l._ more, for _the same stake_. '3. Tell Martin the tiles I saw in August last will answer for the cow-house; and let him put them down at once. 'In haste, 'Yours truly, 'M. WYLDER.' Enclosed was an order on Lake for 150_l._ When Larkin got this he was in his study. 'Why--why--this--_positively_ this is the letter. _How's_ this?' And Mr. Larkin looked as much scared and astonished as if a spirit rose up before him. '_This_ is the letter--aye, this _is_ the letter.' He repeated this from time to time as he turned it over and looked at the postmark, and back again at the letter, and looked up at the date, and down at the signature, and read the note through. 'Yes, this is it--here it is--this is it. There's no doubt whatever--this is the letter referred to in the last--Wealdon, Martin, and the 150_l._' And the attorney took out his keys, looking pale and stern, like a man about to open the door upon a horror, and unlocked his safe, and took out the oft-consulted and familiar series--letters tied up and bearing the label, 'Mark Wylder, Esq.' 'Aye, here it is, Genoa, 20th, and this, Venice, 28th. Yes, the postmarks correspond; yet the letter from Genoa, dated 20th, refers back to the letter from Venice, written eight days later! the-- Well--I can't comprehend--how in the name of--how in the name----' He placed the two letters on his desk, and read them over, and up and down, and pondered darkly over them.