of fog, Tweddle, did you see those lines on
it in to-day's _Umpire_? Very smart, I call them; regular witty."

"And do you both read a paper on Sunday mornings with 'smart' and
'witty' lines in it?" demanded Mrs. Collum.

"I--I hadn't time this morning," said the unregenerate Leander; "but I
do occasionally cast an eye over it before I get up."

Mrs. Collum groaned, and looked at her daughter reproachfully.

"I see by the _Weekly News_," said Jauncy, "you've had a burglary in
your neighbourhood."

Leander let the carving-knife slip. "A burglary! What! in my
neighbourhood? When?"

"Well, p'r'aps not a burglary; but a capture of two that were 'wanted'
for it. It's all in to-day's _News_."

"I--I haven't seen a paper for the last two days," said Leander, his
heart beating with hope. "Tell us about it!"

"Why, it isn't much to tell; but it seems that last Friday night, or
early on Saturday morning, the constable on duty came upon two
suspicious-looking chaps, propped up insensible against the railings in
Queen Square, covered with blood, and unable to account for themselves.
Whether they'd been trying to break in somewhere and been beaten off, or
had quarrelled, or met with some accident, doesn't seem to be known for
certain. But, anyway, they were arrested for loitering at night with
housebreaking things about them; and, when they were got to the station,
recognized as the men 'wanted' for shooting a policeman down at
Camberwell some time back, and if it is proved against them they'll be
hung, for certain."

"What were they called? Did it say?" asked Leander, eagerly.

"I forget one--something like Bradawl, I believe; the other had a lot of
aliases, but he was best known as the 'Count,' from having lived a good
deal abroad, and speaking broken English like a native."

Leander's spirits rose, in spite of his present anxieties. He had been
going in fear and dread of the revenge of these ruffians, and they were
safely locked up; they could trouble him no more. Small wonder, then,
that his security in this respect made him better able to cope with
minor dangers; and Bella's animosity seemed lulled, too--at least, she
had not opened her mouth, except for food, since she sat down.

In his expansion, he gave himself the airs of a host. "I hope," he said,
"I've served you all to your likings? Miss Parkinson, you're not getting
on; allow me to offer you a little more pork."

"Thank you, Mr. Tweddle," said the implac