y in the face. Here in Edinburgh
I was within four miles of the sea, yet the business of approaching
random fishermen with my hat in the one hand and a knife in the other,
appeared so desperate, that I saw nothing for it but to retrace my steps
over the northern counties, and knock a second time at the doors of
Burchell Fenn. To do this, money would be necessary; and after leaving
my paper in the hands of Flora I had still a balance of about fifteen
hundred pounds. Or rather I may say I had them and I had them not; for
after my luncheon with Mr. Robbie I had placed the amount, all but
thirty pounds of change, in a bank in George Street, on a deposit
receipt in the name of Mr. Rowley. This I had designed to be my gift to
him, in case I must suddenly depart. But now, thinking better of the
arrangement, I despatched my little man, cockade and all, to lift the
fifteen hundred.

He was not long gone, and returned with a flushed face, and the deposit
receipt still in his hand.

"No go, Mr. Anne," says he.

"How's that?" I inquired.

"Well, sir, I found the place all right, and no mistake," said he. "But
I tell you what gave me a blue fright! There was a customer standing by
the door, and I reckonised him! Who do you think it was, Mr. Anne? W'y,
that same Red-Breast--him I had breakfast with near Aylesbury."

"You are sure you are not mistaken?" I asked.

"Certain sure," he replied. "Not Mr. Lavender, I don't mean, sir; I mean
the other party. 'Wot's he doing here?' says I. 'It don't look right.'"

"Not by any means," I agreed.

I walked to and fro in the apartment reflecting. This particular Bow
Street runner might be here by accident; but it was to imagine a
singular play of coincidence that he, who had met Rowley and spoken with
him in the "Green Dragon," hard by Aylesbury, should be now in Scotland,
where he could have no legitimate business, and by the doors of the bank
where Rowley kept his account.

"Rowley," said I, "he didn't see you, did he?"

"Never a fear," quoth Rowley. "W'y, Mr. Anne, sir, if he 'ad, you
wouldn't have seen _me_ any more! I ain't a hass, sir!"

"Well, my boy, you can put that receipt in your pocket. You'll have no
more use for it till you're quite clear of me. Don't lose it, though;
it's your share of the Christmas-box: fifteen hundred pounds all for
yourself."

"Begging your pardon, Mr. Anne, sir, but wot for?" said Rowley.

"To set up a public-house upon," said I.

"If you'll e