ished future for him, as a thieftaker.

She never got that envelope out of her pocket, conceiving it to be
included in her pledge of secrecy. She would look at it before she went
to bed. But was it any wonder that she did not, and that her
granddaughter had to undress her and put her to bed like a tired child?
The last sound of which she was conscious was the voice of Harry
Costrell, returning after a long and futile chase, immensely excited and
pleased, and quite ready to submit to any sort of fragmentary supper.

Then deep, deep sleep. Then an awakening to daylight, and all the
memories of yestereven crowding in upon her--among them an address and a
name in the pocket of the gown by the bedside. She could reach it
easily.

There it was. She lay back in bed uncrumpling it, expecting nothing....

This was the fag-end of a dream, surely! But no--there the words were,
staring her in the face:--"Ralph Thornton Daverill!" And her mind
staggered back fifty years.

CHAPTER X

A WORD FOR TYPHUS. DR. DALRYMPLE'S PECULIAR INTEREST IN THE CASE.
THE NURSE'S FRONT TOOTH. AN INVALID WHO MEANT BUSINESS. SAPPS COURT
AGAIN. HOW DAVE AND DOLLY LEFT THINGS BE IN MRS. PRICHARD'S ROOM.
DOLLY JUNIOR'S LEGS. QUEEN VICTORIA AND PRINCE ALBERT. MRS. BURR'S
RETURN. BUT SHE COULD GIVE AUNT M'RIAR A LIFT, IN SPITE OF HER
INSTEP. HOW THE WRITING-TABLE HAD LOST A LEG. WHAT IT WOULD COME TO
TO MAKE A SOUND JOB OF IT. BUT ONLY BY EMPTYING OUT THE THINGS
INSIDE OF THE DRAWER. WHO WOULD ACT AS BAILEE? HOW A VISION
VOLUNTEERED. HOW THE LOCK CAME OPEN QUITE EASY, AND MRS. BURR MADE
A NEAT PACKET OF WHAT IT RELEASED, TO BE TOOK CHARGE OF BY THE
VISION

It had got wind in Cavendish Square that Typhus had broken out at Number
One-hundred-and-two. That was the first form rumour gave to the result
of a challenge to gaol-fever, recklessly delivered by Miss Grahame in a
top-attic in Drury Lane. It was unfair to Typhus, who, if not
disqualified from saying a word on his own behalf, might have
replied:--"I am within my rights. I know my place, I hope. I never break
out in the homes of the Well-to-do. But if the Well-to-do come fussing
round in the homes of the Ill-to-be, they must just take their chance of
catching me. I wash my hands of all responsibility."

And no doubt the excuse would have been allowed by all fair-minded
Nosologists. For although Typhus--many years before this--had laid
s