, and the last
doubt about his connection with coiners flickered from my mind.

At this moment a young man came in, who, I saw at once, was not a
customer. He walked briskly to the farther end of the shop, and
disappeared behind a partition which had one pane of glass in it that
gave an outlook towards the front door.

'Excuse me a moment,' said the shopkeeper, and he followed the young
man into the private office.

As I examined the curious heterogeneous collection of things for sale,
I heard the clink of coins being poured out on the lid of a desk or an
uncovered table, and the murmur of voices floated out to me. I was now
near the entrance of the shop, and by a sleight-of-hand trick, keeping
the corner of my eye on the glass pane of the private office, I
removed the key of the front door without a sound, and took an
impression of it in wax, returning the key to its place unobserved. At
this moment another young man came in, and walked straight past me
into the private office. I heard him say,--

'Oh, I beg pardon, Mr. Simpson. How are you, Rogers?'

'Hallo, Macpherson,' saluted Rogers, who then came out, bidding
good-night to Mr. Simpson, and departed whistling down the street, but
not before he had repeated his phrase to another young man entering,
to whom he gave the name of Tyrrel.

I noted these three names in my mind. Two others came in together, but
I was compelled to content myself with memorising their features, for
I did not learn their names. These men were evidently collectors, for
I heard the rattle of money in every case; yet here was a small shop,
doing apparently very little business, for I had been within it for
more than half an hour, and yet remained the only customer. If credit
were given, one collector would certainly have been sufficient, yet
five had come in, and had poured their contributions into the pile
Summertrees was to take home with him that night.

I determined to secure one of the pamphlets which the man had been
addressing. They were piled on a shelf behind the counter, but I had
no difficulty in reaching across and taking the one on top, which I
slipped into my pocket. When the fifth young man went down the street
Summertrees himself emerged, and this time he carried in his hand the
well-filled locked leather satchel, with the straps dangling. It was
now approaching half-past five, and I saw he was eager to close up and
get away.

'Anything else you fancy, sir?' he asked me