NDS THAT E. DUNKSWELL IS A DISAGREEABLE ROOM-MATE.

I WAS vexed, and almost disheartened, by the loss of the letter
addressed to Bunyard. My plan to find my mother rested mainly on the
possession of it. I had placed the letters in the valise after I came on
board, and they must have been taken out after the steamer discharged
her pilot. There was not much room for a mystery, for I immediately
jumped to the conclusion that E. Dunkswell was the person who had robbed
me.

E. Dunkswell was at that moment in his berth, at least half drunk, and a
bottle labelled "Old Bourbon" stood on his wash-stand. The odor in the
state-room was quite equal to that of a third-class bar-room. Why had E.
Dunkswell taken those letters? In what manner did they concern him?
This was an interesting, and rather exciting question to me, and it
suggested other pertinent inquiries. He had not taken his passage till
after I applied for mine. He had practically insisted that I should
occupy the same state-room with him. Why did he refuse to exchange
berths with Mr. Solomons? Why did he labor so hard to become intimate
with me?

The answer to all these questions was plain enough to me after a little
consideration. He was an agent of Tom Thornton. He had been sent to worm
himself into my friendship, and take from me the will, which Tom
probably supposed I carried in my pocket, and the other papers which
would enable me to find my mother. Force and violence had failed, and
Tom had resorted to cunning and stratagem.

E. Dunkswell had drank too much wine at dinner, and too much whiskey
after dinner. Perhaps the frequent libations he had taken increased his
zeal, but they diminished his discretion in a corresponding ratio. He
had begun his work too soon, and had done it in a very bungling manner.
If whiskey was a curse to him, it was a blessing to me, for in his sober
senses he would not have exposed himself and his plans by robbing my
valise so early on the voyage.

My blood was up; and while I sat on the sofa debating whether or not I
should take E. Dunkswell by the throat, and "have it out" with him, he
got out of his berth, and took another pull at the bottle. It was plain
that he had no intention of keeping sober, and I concluded to wait and
let the whiskey help me do my work.

"How is it, old boy?" said he.

"First rate," I replied.

"How zhe head?"

"Sou'-sou'-west, half-west."

"I mus' zgo on deck an zee to it."

He put on his hat, s