ding over the
precious collection to the care of my friend, I could not help pitying
him and envying his successor whose life was to pass in so pleasant a
duty. Within a week, Ward Mortimer was duly installed in his new set
of rooms, and had become the autocrat of the Belmore Street Museum.

About a fortnight afterwards my friend gave a small dinner to half a
dozen bachelor friends to celebrate his promotion. When his guests
were departing he pulled my sleeve and signalled to me that he wished
me to remain.

"You have only a few hundred yards to go," said he--I was living in
chambers in the Albany. "You may as well stay and have a quiet cigar
with me. I very much want your advice."

I relapsed into an arm-chair and lit one of his excellent Matronas.
When he had returned from seeing the last of his guests out, he drew a
letter from his dress-jacket and sat down opposite to me.

"This is an anonymous letter which I received this morning," said he.
"I want to read it to you and to have your advice."

"You are very welcome to it for what it is worth."

"This is how the note runs: 'Sir,--I should strongly advise you to
keep a very careful watch over the many valuable things which are
committed to your charge. I do not think that the present system of a
single watchman is sufficient. Be upon your guard, or an irreparable
misfortune may occur.'"

"Is that all?"

"Yes, that is all."

"Well," said I, "it is at least obvious that it was written by one of
the limited number of people who are aware that you have only one
watchman at night."

Ward Mortimer handed me the note, with a curious smile. "Have you an
eye for handwriting?" said he. "Now, look at this!" He put another
letter in front of me. "Look at the c in 'congratulate' and the c in
'committed.' Look at the capital I. Look at the trick of putting in a
dash instead of a stop!"

"They are undoubtedly from the same hand--with some attempt at disguise
in the case of this first one."

"The second," said Ward Mortimer, "is the letter of congratulation
which was written to me by Professor Andreas upon my obtaining my
appointment."

I stared at him in amazement. Then I turned over the letter in my
hand, and there, sure enough, was "Martin Andreas" signed upon the
other side. There could be no doubt, in the mind of anyone who had the
slightest knowledge of the science of graphology, that the Professor
had written an anonymous letter, warning his su