on was one of considerable weakness. On the one hand, it
would have been well to avoid the direct line of railway, since it was
there he might expect his nephews to lie in wait for his recapture; on
the other, it was highly desirable, it was even strictly needful, to get
the bill discounted ere it should be stopped. To London, therefore, he
decided to proceed on the first train; and there remained but one point
to be considered, how to pay his fare.

Joseph's nails were never clean; he ate almost entirely with his knife.
I doubt if you could say he had the manners of a gentleman; but he had
better than that, a touch of genuine dignity. Was it from his stay in
Asia Minor? Was it from a strain in the Finsbury blood sometimes
alluded to by customers? At least, when he presented himself before the
station-master, his salaam was truly Oriental, palm-trees appeared to
crowd about the little office, and the simoom or the bulbul--but I leave
this image to persons better acquainted with the East. His appearance,
besides, was highly in his favour; the uniform of Sir Faraday, however
inconvenient and conspicuous, was, at least, a costume in which no
swindler could have hoped to prosper; and the exhibition of a valuable
watch and a bill for eight hundred pounds completed what deportment had
begun. A quarter of an hour later, when the train came up, Mr Finsbury
was introduced to the guard and installed in a first-class compartment,
the station-master smilingly assuming all responsibility.

As the old gentleman sat waiting the moment of departure, he was the
witness of an incident strangely connected with the fortunes of his
house. A packing-case of cyclopean bulk was borne along the platform
by some dozen of tottering porters, and ultimately, to the delight of a
considerable crowd, hoisted on board the van. It is often the cheering
task of the historian to direct attention to the designs and (if it may
be reverently said) the artifices of Providence. In the luggage van, as
Joseph was borne out of the station of Southampton East upon his way
to London, the egg of his romance lay (so to speak) unhatched. The
huge packing-case was directed to lie at Waterloo till called for, and
addressed to one 'William Dent Pitman'; and the very next article,
a goodly barrel jammed into the corner of the van, bore the
superscription, 'M. Finsbury, 16 John Street, Bloomsbury. Carriage
paid.'

In this juxtaposition, the train of powder was prepared;