something or other by memory. Indeed they
have reached a pitch of inaccuracy that could not be attained without
co-operation. Independent liars contradict each other; but these chaps
follow one another in falsehood, like geese toddling after one another
across a common.

"Come, come," said Mrs. Undercliff, "if you can't help us, don't hurt us.
We don't want a man to talk yellow jaundice to us. Miss Rolleston must
employ somebody to read all the other papers, and compare the reports
with these."

"I'll employ nobody but myself," said Helen. "I'll go to the British
Museum directly."

"The Museum!" cried Mr. Undercliff, looking with surprise. "Why, they
will be half an hour groping for a copy of the _Times._ No, no; go to
Peele's CoffeeHouse." He directed her where to find that place; and she
was so eager to do something for Robert, however small, that she took up
her bag directly, and put up the prayer-book, and was going to ask for
her extracts, when she observed Mr. Undercliff was scrutinizing them with
great interest, so she thought she would leave them with him; but, on
looking more closely, she found that he was examining, not the reports,
but the advertisements and miscellanea on the reverse side.

She waited out of politeness, but she colored and bit her lip. She could
not help feeling hurt and indignant. "Any trash is more interesting to
people than poor Robert's case," she thought. And at last she said
bitterly:

"Those _advertisements_ seem to interest you, sir; shall I leave _them_
with you?"

"If you please," said the expert, over whose head, bent in dogged
scrutiny, this small thunderbolt of feminine wrath passed unconscious.

Helen drove away to Peele's Coffee House.

Mrs. Undercliff pondered over the facts that had been elicited in this
conversation; the expert remained absorbed in the advertisements at the
back of Helen's reports.

When he had examined every one of them minutely, he held the entire
extracts up to the light, and looked through them; then he stuck a double
magnifier in his eye, and looked through them with that. Then he took two
pieces of card, wrote on them Re Penfold, and looked about for his other
materials, to put them all neatly together. Lo! the profile of Robert
Penfold was gone.

"Now that is too bad," said he. "So much for her dove-like eyes, that you
admired so. Miss Innocence has stolen that profile."

"Stolen! she bought it--of me."

"Why, she never said a word."