l round the room, coming to the bag last though it was the only thing
on the table, and right under their noses, an sure enough they found a
50 pound note there in the little pocket!"

"And what said the Scotsman to that?" asked Mr Dean, with a slight
grin.

"He said, turning to master, `It was you did that--'ee--blagyird!'"
cried Martha, again bursting into laughter at her Scotch. "And then,"
continued Martha, "one of the policemen said 'e 'ad seen Mr Laidlaw not
long ago in company with a well-known thief, and the other one swore 'e
'ad seen 'im the same night in a thieves' den, and that 'e was
hevidently on a friendly footin' wi' them for 'e 'ad refused to quit the
place, and was hinsolent. At this lawyer Lockhart shook 'is 'ead and
said 'e thought it was a bad case, an' the poor Scotsman seemed so took
aback that 'e said nothink--only stared from one to another, and went
off quietly to prison."

After investigating the matter a little further, and obtaining, through
Martha, a private interview with Mary, who corroborated all that her
fellow-servant had said, Mr Dean went straight to Pimlico, and
interviewed the butler who had been in the service of the Weston family.
Thereafter he visited Colonel Brentwood, and, in the presence of his
wife and daughter discussed the whole affair from beginning to end. We
will spare the reader that discussion, and turn towards Newgate.

On the evening of that day poor David Laidlaw found himself in durance
vile, with massive masonry around him, and a very Vesuvius of
indignation within him. Fortunately, in the afternoon of the following
day, which chanced to be Sunday, a safety valve--a sort of crater--was
allowed to him in the shape of pen, ink, and paper. Using these
materials, he employed his enforced leisure in writing to that
receptacle of his early and later joys and woes--his mother.

"Whar d'ye think I've gotten t' noo, mither?" the letter began. "I'm in
Newgate! It's an auld gate noo-a-days, an' a bad gate onyway, for it's
a prison. Think o' that! If onybody had said I wad be in jail maist as
soon as I got to Bawbylon I wad have said he was leein'! But here I am,
hard an' fast, high and dry--uncom'on dry!--wi' naething but stane
aroond me--stane wa's, stane ceilin', stane floor; my very hairt seems
turned to stane. Losh, woman, it bates a'!

"It's no maner o' use gaun into the hale story. A buik wad scarce ha'd
it a'. The details'll keep till you an' I mee