e.

CHAPTER TEN.

"WILL YOU WALK INTO MY PARLOUR?" SAID THE SPIDER TO THE FLY.

The two days which followed the despatch of the letter to "Omega" were
long and anxious ones for Reginald Cruden. It would have been a great
relief to him had he felt free to talk the matter over with Horace; but
somehow that word "confidential" in the advertisement deterred him. For
all that, he made a point of leaving the paper containing it in his
brother's way, if by any chance the invitation to an additional L50 a
year might meet his eye. Had it done so, it is doubtful whether
Reginald would have been pleased, for he knew that if it came to
selecting one of the two, Horace would probably pass for quite as
respectable and considerably more intelligent a young man than himself.
Still, he had no right to stand in his brother's way if fate ordained
that he too should be attracted by the advertisement. He therefore left
the paper lying conspicuously about with the advertisement sheet turned
toward the beholder.

Horace, however, had too much of the _Rocket_ in his business hours to
crave for a further perusal of it during his leisure. He kicked it
unceremoniously out of his way the first time he encountered it; and
when Reginald saw it next it was in a mangled condition under the stairs
in the suspicious company of the servant-girl's cinder-shovel.

On the second morning, when he arrived at his work, a letter lay on his
case with the Liverpool postmark, addressed R. Cruden, Esquire,
_Rocket_ Office, London. In his excitement and haste to learn its
contents it never occurred to him to notice the unexpected compliment
conveyed in the word "Esquire"; and he might have remained for ever in
blissful ignorance of the fact, had not his left-hand neighbour, the
satirical Mr Barber, considered the occasion a good one for a few
flashes of wit.

"'Ullo, Esquire, 'ow are you, Esquire? There is somebody knows you,
then. Liverpool, too! That's where all the chaps who rob the till go
to. R. Cruden, Esquire--my eye! What's the use of putting any more
than `London' on the envelope--such a well-known character as you?
Stuck-up idiot!"

To this address Reginald attended sufficiently to discover that it was
not worth listening to; after which he did not even hear the concluding
passages of his neighbour's declamation, being absorbed in far more
interesting inquiries. He tore the envelope open and hurriedly read--

"Sir,--Your favour