publish their disagreements and misfortunes, except on the last necessity. I do not dispute that you discharge your duty in asking me the question; you will not dispute my right to withhold the answer. Good night."
Again he turned towards the wicket, where the satellite, with his eye upon his chief, remained a dumb statue.
" At least," said Mr. Inspector, " you will not object to leave me your card, sir?"
" I should not object, if I had one; but I have not." He reddened and was much confused as he gave the answer.
" At least," said Mr. Inspector, with no change of voice or manner, " you will not object to write down your name and address? "
" Not at all."
Mr. Inspector dipped a pen in his inkstand, and deftly laid it on a piece of paper close beside him; then resumed his former attitude. The stranger stepped up to the desk, and wrote in a rather tremulous hand—Mr. Inspector taking side long note of every hair of his head when it was bent down for the purpose—" Mr. Julius Handford, Exchequer Coffee House, Palace Yard, Westminster."
" Staying there, I presume, sir?"
" Staying there."
" Consequently, from the country?"
" Eh? Yes—from the country."
" Good night, sir."
The satellite removed his arm and opened the wicket, and Mr. Julius Handford went out.
" Reserve! " said Mr. Inspector. " Take care of this piece of paper, keep him in view without giving offence, ascertain that he is staying there, and find out anything you can about him."
The satellite was gone; and Mr. Inspector becoming once again the quiet Abbot of that Monastery, dipped his pen in his ink and resumed his books. The two friends who had watched him, more amused by the professional manner than
