gaol."

"Anyway, joking apart, the men I have brought know all about it," said
Scarlett. "You've got till to-morrow morning to make tracks, Benjamin."

The goldsmith coughed, and stood up in the full blaze of the fire-light.
"I confess to nothing," he said. "My strong point hasn't been my piety,
I own to that. I'm not much of a hot gospeller. I can't call to mind any
works of unusual virtue perpetrated by me in unthinking moments. I'll go
even so far as this: I'll acknowledge there are times when, if I let
myself off the chain, I'd astonish all Timber Town; for there lurks
somewhere inside my anatomy a demon which, let loose, would turn the
town into a little hell, but, gentlemen, believe me, he is bound hand
and foot, he's in durance vile. I'm no saint, but I'm no forger or
counterfeiter, or animal of that sort--not yet. I have notions sometimes
that I'd make a first-class burglar, if I gave my mind thoroughly to the
business: I'd go to work in a scientific way; I'd do the business in a
workmanlike fashion. I've got a strong leaning towards the trade, and
yet I never burgled once, I who take a pleasure in investigating locks
and latches and all the hundred-and-one contraptions used against
thieves. But what is Timber Town?--a trap. The man who goes
housebreaking in a little tin-pot place like that deserves to be
caught. No, it is too isolated, too solitary, too difficult of egress
to foreign parts, is Timber Town. The idea is preposterous, foolish,
untenable--excellent word, untenable--and as for forging, the thing is
so ridiculous that it isn't worth confuting. But what's this about
robbing mails? What mails?"

"The incoming English mail," said Scarlett. "Someone went through the
bags before they were delivered."

"Ah!" said Benjamin, "we must look for the motive in the perpetration of
such a crime as that. We'll grant that the robbery took place--we'll
make that concession. But what was the motive? The thief would expect
one of two things--either to enhance his wealth, or to obtain valuable
information. Who does the cap fit? Personally, I am as poor as a crow
but for this gold: as regards information, all the secrets of the
citizens of Timber Town do not interest me--I have no use for
scandal--and as I have no rivals in my calling, mere trade secrets have
no charm for me. The police are chuckle-heads." Tresco buried his face
in his pannikin, and then re-lit his pipe.

"Very good argyment," commented the hirsute