between Berwick and Wooler, and Berwick and Kelso, and
Berwick and Burnmouth, and Berwick and Blyth, you'll have your work set,
I'm thinking!"

"All the same," said Chisholm doggedly, "that's how it's been. And the
bank at Peebles has the numbers of the notes that Phillips carried off in
his little bag--and I'll trace those fellows yet, Mr. Lindsey."

"Good luck to you, sergeant!" answered Mr. Lindsey. He turned to me when
Chisholm had gone. "That's the police all over, Hugh," he remarked. "And
you might talk till you were black in the face to yon man, and he'd stick
to his story."

"You don't believe it, then?" I asked him, somewhat surprised.

"He may be right," he replied. "I'm not saying. Let him attend to his
business--and now we'll be seeing to ours."

It was a busy day with us in the office that, being the day before court
day, and we had no time to talk of anything but our own affairs. But
during the afternoon, at a time when I had left the office for an hour
or two on business, Sir Gilbert Carstairs called, and he was closeted
with Mr. Lindsey when I returned. And after they had been together some
time Mr. Lindsey came out to me and beckoned me into a little
waiting-room that we had and shut the door on us, and I saw at once from
the expression on his face that he had no idea that Sir Gilbert and I
had met the night before, or that I had any notion of what he was going
to say to me.

"Hugh, my lad!" said he, clapping me on the shoulder; "you're evidently
one of those that are born lucky. What's the old saying--'Some achieve
greatness, some have greatness thrust upon them!'--eh? Here's
greatness--in a degree--thrusting itself on you!"

"What's this you're talking about, Mr. Lindsey?" I asked. "There's not
much greatness about me, I'm thinking!"

"Well, it's not what you're thinking in this case," he answered; "it's
what other folks are thinking of you. Here's Sir Gilbert Carstairs in my
room yonder. He's wanting a steward--somebody that can keep accounts, and
letters, and look after the estate, and he's been looking round for a
likely man, and he's heard that Lindsey's clerk, Hugh Moneylaws, is just
the sort he wants--and, in short, the job's yours, if you like to take
it. And, my lad, it's worth five hundred a year--and a permanency, too! A
fine chance for a young fellow of your age!"

"Do you advise me to take it, Mr. Lindsey?" I asked, endeavouring to
combine surprise with a proper respect for the v