Scotland Yard; go into the Yard, and you will
see me; follow me without a word. When you go back, the other spies will
be so frightened they will go off to their employer, and so we shall nail
him."

Helen complied with these instructions strictly, and then returned home,
leaving Mr. Burt to work. She had been home about half an hour, when the
servant brought her up a message saying that a man wanted to speak to
her. "Admit him," said Helen.

"He is dressed very poor, miss."

"Never mind; send him to me."

She was afraid to reject anybody now, lest she might turn her back on
information.

A man presented himself in well-worn clothes, with a wash-leather face
and close-shaven chin; a little of his forehead was also shaven.

"Madam, my name is Hand." Helen started. "I have already had the honor of
writing to you."

"Yes, sir," said Helen, eying him with fear and aversion.

"Madam, I am come"--(he hesitated)--"I am an unfortunate man. Weighed
down by remorse for a thoughtless act that has ruined an innocent man,
and nearly cost my worthy employer his life, I come to expiate as far as
in me lies. But let me be brief and hurry over the tale of shame. I was a
clerk at Wardlaw's office. A bill-broker called Adams was talking to me
and my fellow-clerks, and boasting that nobody could take him in with a
feigned signature. Bets were laid; our vanity was irritated by his
pretension. It was my fortune to overhear my young master and his friend
Robert Penfold speak about a loan of two thousand pounds. In an evil hour
I listened to the tempter and wrote a forged note for that amount. I took
it to Mr. Penfold; he presented it to Adams, and it was cashed. I
intended, of course, to call next day, and tell Mr. Penfold, and take him
to Adams, and restore the money and get back the note. It was not due for
three months. Alas! that very day it fell under suspicion. Mr. Penfold
was arrested. My young master was struck down with illness at his
friend's guilt, though he never could be quite got to believe it; and
I--miserable coward!--dared not tell the truth. Ever since that day I
have been a miserable man. The other day I came into money, and left
Wardlaw's service. But I carry my remorse with me. Madam, I am come to
tell the truth. I dare not tell it to Mr. Wardlaw; I think he would kill
me. But I will tell it to you, and you can tell it to him; ay, tell it to
all the world. Let my shame be as public as his whom I have injured so