mplete."

"Upon my word, sir, I do not think it is: it would be sufficient for
any intellectual jury in a Common Law court," said Mr. Prendergast,
who sometimes, behind his back, gave to Mr. Die the surname of
Cunctator.

"But juries in Common Law courts are not always intelligent. And
you may be sure, Prendergast, that any gentleman taking up the case
on the other side would have as much to say for his client as your
counsel would have for yours. Remember, you have not even been to
Putney yet."

"Been to Putney!" said Herbert, who was becoming uneasy.

"The onus probandi would lie with them," said Mr. Prendergast. "We
take possession of that which is our own till it is proved to belong
to others."

"You have already abandoned the possession."

"No; we have done nothing already: we have taken no legal step; when
we believed--"

"Having by your own act put yourself in your present position, I
think you ought to be very careful before you take up another."

"Certainly we ought to be careful. But I do maintain that we may be
too punctilious. As a matter of course I shall go to Putney."

"To Putney!" said Herbert Fitzgerald.

"Yes, Herbert, and now, if Mr. Die will permit, I will tell you
what has happened. On yesterday afternoon, before you came to dine
with me, I received that letter. No, that is from your cousin, Owen
Fitzgerald. You must see that also by-and-by. It was this one,--from
the younger Mollett, the man whom you saw that day in your poor
father's room."

Herbert anxiously put out his hand for the letter, but he was again
interrupted by Mr. Die. "I beg your pardon, Mr. Fitzgerald, for a
moment. Prendergast, let me see that letter again, will you?" And
taking hold of it, he proceeded to read it very carefully, still
nursing his leg with his left hand, while he held the letter with his
right.

"What's it all about?" said Herbert, appealing to Prendergast almost
in a whisper.

"Lente, lente, lente, my dear Mr. Fitzgerald," said Mr. Die, while
his eyes were still intent upon the paper. "If you will take
advantage of the experience of gray hairs, and bald heads,"--his
own was as bald all round as a big white stone--"you must put up
with some of the disadvantages of a momentary delay. Suppose now,
Prendergast, that he is acting in concert with those people in--what
do you call the street?"

"In Spinny Lane."

"Yes; with his father and the two women there."

"What could they gain by that?"

"