Martin's Lane, and a radius thrown out from
that centre would, in some quarter, touch the hotel at a distance of
half a mile or thereabout. I was sure of that, as of one ascertained
fact, but I had no other clue to guide my footsteps.

I know not how many hotels I entered during that day. The night, I know,
had closed in, and found me a denizen of the streets, splashed with mud
to the collar of my coat, and worn out with fatigue. At night I got a
bed at a small coffee-house, for I saw that it would be necessary to
economize the few shillings that I had in my possession. The sun was
really shining the next morning, when I breakfasted, and the landlord
spoke of the blue sky, remarking that the day would be a fine one. To my
apprehension the sky was _gray_, which is, indeed, almost always the
color of the English sky at all seasons. From the _Post-Office
Directory_, which I found at the coffee-house, I copied a list of all
the hotels within half a mile of St. Martin's Lane. Entering one of
these about noon--it was situated in Rupert street--I recognized the
first waiter who presented himself. I thought it strange that he did not
seem surprised at my appearance, or allude to my enforced absence, but
upon inquiring for the Scotchman, I was utterly confounded by his reply:
'Oh! the gentleman that dined with you, sir, the day before yesterday.
He went away yesterday, sir, and took your trunks with him.'

'Took my trunks with him!' I exclaimed.

'Yes, sir; he said that you had gone on to Birmingham, by the
mail-train, and that he was to follow with the luggage.'

I almost reeled at the intelligence. The perfidy of the Scotchman was
manifest. He had taken me into the fog to lose me, and while I was
picturing his dismay at the accident which had separated us, and his
anxiety on my account, the scoundrel was appropriating my trunks and
valises. I hastened to confer with the proprietor of the hotel
respecting the step which it would be best to take. He was a very
respectable man, and was sincerely grieved for my loss.

'We will go to Scotland Yard immediately,' he said, 'and acquaint the
Chief of Police.'

My money, my letters, every thing that stood between me and beggary were
in the purloined trunks. The landlord told me to regard his house as my
home. The police-officer heard my story patiently, but seemed to think
that the chance of getting back the trunks was a small one. And the
sequel proved he was right.

Altogethe