f lumber, she said. Edward bought the duplicate of her, and went
downstairs to the pawnbroker's.

In the back division of a musty shop, amid the heterogeneous collection
of articles and odours invariably crowding such places, he produced his
ticket, and with a sense of satisfaction out of all proportion to the
probable worth of his acquisition, took the box and carried it off
under his arm. He attempted to lift the cover as he walked, but found it
locked.

It was dusk when Springrove reached his lodging. Entering his small
sitting-room, the front apartment on the ground floor, he struck a
light, and proceeded to learn if any scrap or mark within or upon his
purchase rendered it of moment to the business in hand. Breaking open
the cover with a small chisel, and lifting the tray, he glanced eagerly
beneath, and found--nothing.

He next discovered that a pocket or portfolio was formed on the
underside of the cover. This he unfastened, and slipping his hand
within, found that it really contained some substance. First he pulled
out about a dozen tangled silk and cotton threads. Under them were
a short household account, a dry moss-rosebud, and an old pair of
carte-de-visite photographs. One of these was a likeness of Mrs.
Manston--'Eunice' being written under it in ink--the other of Manston
himself.

He sat down dispirited. This was all the fruit of his task--not a single
letter, date, or address of any kind to help him--and was it likely
there would be?

However, thinking he would send the fragments, such as they were, to
Graye, in order to satisfy him that he had done his best so far,
he scribbled a line, and put all except the silk and cotton into an
envelope. Looking at his watch, he found it was then twenty minutes to
seven; by affixing an extra stamp he would be enabled to despatch them
by that evening's post. He hastily directed the packet, and ran with it
at once to the post-office at Charing Cross.

On his return he took up the workbox again to examine it more leisurely.
He then found there was also a small cavity in the tray under the
pincushion, which was movable by a bit of ribbon. Lifting this he
uncovered a flattened sprig of myrtle, and a small scrap of crumpled
paper. The paper contained a verse or two in a man's handwriting. He
recognized it as Manston's, having seen notes and bills from him at his
father's house. The stanza was of a complimentary character, descriptive
of the lady who was now Mansto