d out what the little
game was. One day, I was driving tap to my usual place of dropping
him--for by this time we had got into the way of going a regular
beat every morning--when I saw a policeman waiting, with a perky
sort of look about him, as if he had some job on hand. When the
cab stopped out jumped the little man with his bag right into the
arms of the 'bobby.'

"'I arrest you, John Malone,' says the policeman.

"'On what charge?' he answers as cool as a turnip.

"'On the charge of forging Bank of England notes,' says the 'bobby'.

"'Oh, then the game is up!' he cries, and with that he pulls off his
spectacles, and his wig and whiskers, and there he was, as smart a
young fellow as you'd wish to see.

"'Good-bye, cabby,' he cried, as they led him off, and that was the
last I saw of him, marching along between two of them, and another
behind with the bag."

"And why did he take a cab?" I asked, much interested.

"Well, you see, he had all his plant for making the notes in that
bag. If he were to lock himself up in his lodging several hours a
day it would soon set people wondering, to say nothing of the chance
of eyes at the window or key-hole. Again, you see, if he took a
house all on his own hook, without servant nor anyone, it would look
queer. So he made up his mind as the best way of working it was to
carry it on in a closed cab, and I don't know that he wasn't right.
He was known to the police however, and that was how they spotted
him. Drat that van! It was as near as a touch to my off-wheel.

"Bless you, if I was to tell you all the thieves and burglars, and
even murderers, as have been in my growler one time or another, you'd
think I'd given the whole Newgate Calendar a lift, though to be sure
this young chap as I spoke of was the only one as ever reg'lar set up
in business there. There was one though as I reckon to be worse than
all the others put together, if he was what I think him to be. It's
often laid heavy on my mind that I didn't have that chap collared
before it was too late, for I might have saved some mischief. It was
about ten years ago--I never was a good hand for dates--that I
picked up a stout-built sailor-sort of fellow, with a reddish
moustache, who wanted to be taken down to the docks. After this chap
as I told you of had taken such liberties with the premises I'd had a
little bit of a glass slit let in in front here--the same that your
little boy's flattening his nose ag