andoned the search, and awaited his
majority very much as a debtor awaits his bankruptcy.

Mr Armstrong, who chanced to look up at the moment when Raffles
delivered the letter, concluded at once from the startled look on the
lad's face that it was a missive of no common importance.

It was from Ratman, and bore on its envelope the London post-mark:--

"Dear Brother,--For the last time I claim your help. I know quite
well that I am being hunted to death by you and those you employ.
Without a shred of evidence you are willing to believe me a murderer.
I suppose I have no right to complain. It would be convenient to you
to have me out of the way, and the best way of getting rid of me is to
get up this cry against me. A nice brotherly act, and worthy of an
Ingleton! It is no use my telling you that I am innocent--that till I
had been two days here I never so much as heard of Oliphant's death.
You would not believe it. Nor, I fancy, is it much use telling you
that the scoundrel owed me money, that I was shielding him from the
consequences of an old felony for which he might have had penal
servitude, and that the little he did pay me was stolen from your
property. Of course you wouldn't believe it. It is only about your
brother, who has been a slung stone all his life, who never had a
friend, never knew a kind look from any one, that you are ready to
believe evil. I am nearly at the end of my tether here. In a day or
two you will probably hear that I am arrested, and then you will have
your revenge on me for daring to be your flesh and blood; and you will
have no difficulty in convincing a judge and jury that I have
committed any crime you and your saintly tutor choose to concoct
between you. Pleasant to be rich and influential! I could escape if
I had money. Fifty pounds would rid you of me almost as effectively
as the gallows. But it would cost you something; therefore it is
absurd to imagine it possible. When, three days hence, I make my last
call at the General Post Office, and hear once more that there is
nothing for me, not even a message of brotherly pity (which costs
nothing), I shall know my last hope is gone. And you, in the lap of
luxury, counting your thousands, and monarch of all you survey, will
be able to breathe again. Either you will hear of my arrest, or, if
my courage befriends me, you may read in an obscure corner of the
paper