r with rising
exasperation. "Come; if it's a matter of the reward--how much?"

"I wouldn't mind having a good reward; say ten dollars. But I want to
be sure it's your book. There's something about it that you could easily
tell me sir, for any one could see it."

"A very observing shoemaker," commented the other with a slight sneer.
"You mean the--the half split cover?"

"Swish-swish; whish-swish," sounded from the rear room.

"Excuse me," said Bertram, who had not ceased from his pretended work.
"I have to get a piece of leather."

He stepped into the back room where Average Jones, his face alight, held
up a piece of paper upon which he had hurriedly scrawled:

"Mss. bound into cover. Get it out of him. Tell him you've a brother who
is a Latin scholar."

Bertram nodded, caught up a strip of calf-skin and returned.

"Yes, sir," he said, "the split cover and what's inside?"

The other started. "You didn't get it out?" he cried. "You didn't tear
it!"

"No, sir. It's there safe enough. But some of it can be made out."

"You said you didn't read Latin."

"No, sir; but I have a brother that went through the Academy. He reads
a little."' This was thin ice, but Bertram went forward with assumed
assurance. "He thinks the manuscript is quite rare. Oh, Fritz! Come in."

"Any letter of Bacon's is rare, of course," returned the other
impatiently. "Therefore, I purpose offering you fifty dollars reward."

He looked up as Average Jones entered. The young man's sleeves were
rolled up, his face was generously smudged, and a strip of cobbler's wax
beneath the tipper lip, puffed and distorted the firm line of his mouth.
Further, his head was louting low on his neck, so that the visitor got
no view sufficient for recognition.

"Lord Bacon's letter--er--must be pretty rare, Mister," he drawled
thickly. "But a letter--er--from Lord Bacon--er--about Shakespeare--that
ought to be worth a lot of money."

Average Jones had taken his opening with his customary incisive
shrewdness. The mention of Bacon had settled it, to his mind. Only
one imaginable character of manuscript from the philosopher
scholar-politician could have value enough to tempt a thief of Enderby's
calibre. Enderby's expression told that the shot was a true one. As for
Bertram, he had dropped his shoemaker's knife and his shoemaker's role.

"Bacon on Shakespeare! Shades of the departed glory of Ignatius
Donnelly!"

The visitor drew back. Warren's gaunt frame