stability. Here, at all
events, I had a colleague whose word could not be doubted by Isabella,
of whose father John Turner had been a friend as well as of my own.

"Heard any more of Miste?" inquired Turner, while the train stood at
Ipswich station; for he was much too easy-going to shout conversation
during the progress of our journey.

"Sander writes that he has nearly caught him twice, and singularly
enough has done better since you gave Mr. Devar his _conge_."

"Nothing singular about that. Devar was in the swindle and kept Miste
advised of your movements. But there is some one else in it, too."

"A third person?"

"Yes," answered Turner. "A third person. I have been watching the
thing, Dick, and am not such a fat old fool as you take me for. It was
neither Miste nor Devar who cashed that draft. If you catch Miste you
will probably catch some one else, too, some knight-errant of finance,
or I am much mistaken."

At this moment the train moved on, and my friend composed his person
for a sleep which lasted until we reached Saxmundham.

"I suppose," said my companion, waking up there, "that Mademoiselle of
the _beaux yeux_ is to marry Alphonse when the fortune is recovered?"

"I suppose so," answered I, and John Turner closed his eyes again with
a queer look.

In the station enclosure at Lowestoft we found Alphonse Giraud
enjoying himself immensely on the high seat of a dog-cart,
controlling, with many French exclamations, and a partial success, the
movements of a cob which had taken a fancy to progress backwards round
and round the yard.

"It is," he explained, with a jerky salutation of the whip, "the
Sunday-school treat departing for Yarmouth. They marched in here with
a brass band--too much--Whoa! _le petit_, whoa!--too much for our
feelings. There--_bonjour_, Monsieur Turner--how goes it? There--now
we stand still.

"Not for long," said Turner, doubtfully; "and I never get in or out of
anything when it is in motion."

With the assistance of sundry idle persons we held the horse still
enough for my friend to take his seat beside Alphonse, while I and the
luggage found place behind them. We dashed out of the gate at a speed
and risk which gave obvious satisfaction to our driver, and our
progress up the narrow High Street was a series of hairbreadth
escapes.

"It is a pleasure," said Alphonse, airily, as we passed the lighthouse
and the cob settled down into a steady trot, "to drive such a horse as