grumbled that I was out of work and money. Was it likely I would refuse
such a chance? And what was it he would have me do?

He led the way through the big, dimly-lighted hall to an up-stairs room
near the back of the house. Two heavy boxes were lying there, packed and
corded, to be taken down-stairs. I tossed aside my cloak and stooped to
help him. He straightened with a jerk. I had been standing in the shadow
with my soiled cloak wrapped about me, but now I stood revealed in silken
hose, satin breeches, and laced doublet. If that were not enough to
proclaim my rank a rapier dangled by my side.

"Rot me, you're a gentleman," he cried.

I affected to carry off my shame with bluster.

"What if I am!" I cried fiercely. "May not a gentleman be hungry, man? I
am a ruined dicer, as poor as a church mouse. Do you grudge me my
shilling?"

He shrugged his shoulders. Doubtless he had seen more than one broken
gentleman cover poverty with a brave front of fine lawn and gilded
splendour of array.

"All one to me, your Royal 'Ighness. Take 'old 'ere," he said
facetiously.

We carried the boxes into the hall. When we had finished I stood mopping
my face with a handkerchief, but my eyes were glued to the label tacked on
one of the boxes.

_John Armitage, The Oaks, Epsom, Surrey._

"Wot yer waitin' for?" asked the fellow sharply.

"The shilling," I told him.

I left when he gave it me, and as I reached the door he bawled to be sure
to shut it tight. An idea jumped to my mind on the instant, and though I
slammed the door I took care to have my foot an inch or two within the
portal. Next moment I was walking noisily down the steps and along the
pavement.

Three minutes later I tiptoed back up the steps and tried the door. I
opened it slowly and without noise till I could thrust in my head. The
fellow was nowhere to be seen in the hall. I whipped in, and closed the
door after me. Every board seemed to creak as I trod gingerly toward the
stairway. In the empty house the least noise echoed greatly. The polished
stairs cried out hollowly my presence. I was half way up when I came to a
full stop. Some one was coming down round the bend of the stairway. Softly
I slid down the balustrade and crouched behind the post at the bottom. The
man--it was my friend of the shilling--passed within a foot of me, his
hand almost brushing the hair of my head, and crossed the hall to a room
opposite. Again I went up the stairs, still cautiousl