t askin' no names."

"As to that, I'd rather not mention the name, either. But I'd be very
glad o' your advice: for 'tis important to me, in a way o' speakin'!"

Mr Rogers nodded. "If that's so," said he, "you must give me a little
time to think. There's mortgages, o' course: and there's deals to be
done in shipping: and there's money-lendin,--though you'd object to
that, maybe. . . . Anyway, you come to me to-morrow, and I may have
something to propose."

"Thank 'ee. I take that as friendly."

"Right." Mr Rogers let drop a trembling half-paralysed hand towards the
newspaper which lay on the floor beside his chair. "Would ye mind--"

'Bias stepped forward and picked it up for him.

"Thank 'ee. No: I want you to keep it. . . . I'm goin' to do a thing
that's friendlier yet: though it be a risk. Open the paper at the
middle sheet--right-hand side, an' look out a column headed
'Troy News.' . . . Got it?"

"Half a moment--Yes,' Troy News'--Here we are!"

"Now cast your eye down the column till you come 'pon a part about last
Monday's Agricultural Demonstration."

"The devil!" swore 'Bias. "You don't mean to say--"

"'Course I do. Everything gets into the papers nowadays. . . .
You'll find it spicy."

'Bias found the paragraph and started to read, with knitted brows.
Its journalistic style held him puzzled for fully half a minute.
Then he ejaculated "Ha!" and snorted. After another ten seconds he
snorted again and exploded some bad words--some very bad words indeed.

"Thought I'd warn you to be careful," said Mr Rogers. "You don't take
it amiss, I hope? In a little place like this there's eyes about all
the time--an' tongues."

"I'd like to find the joker who wrote it?" breathed 'Bias, the paper
trembling between his hands.

"I can't tell you who _wrote_ it," said the ship-chandler; "but I can
give a pretty close guess who's responsible for it: and that's Philp."

"Philp?"

"Mind ye, I say 'tis but a guess."

"I'll Philp him!"

"Well, he's no fav'rite o' mine," said Mr Rogers grinning. "He's too
suspicious for me, and I hate a man to be suspicious. . . . But he's the
man I suspect."

"Where does he live?"

"Union Place--two flights o' steps below John Peter Nanjulian's--
left-hand side as you go up. But you can't have it out with him on
suspicion only."

"Can't I?" said 'Bias grimly. "I'll ask him plain 'yes' or 'no.'
If he says 'yes,' I'll know what to do, and you may lay I'll do i