contemptuously, and turned away.

Once in his own room, the candles lighted, the door locked, Davis sat
down to the table on which the letters were thrown. Leisurely he took
them up one by one and examined their superscriptions.

"Little news in these," said he, throwing three or four to one side;
"the old story,--money-seeking." And he mumbled out, "'Your acceptance
being duly presented this day at Messrs. Haggitts and Drudge's, and no
provision being made for payment of the same--' It's like the burden of
an old song in one's ears. Who is this from? Oh, Billy Peach, with some
Doncaster news. I do wonder will the day ever come that will bring
me good tidings by the post; I 've paid many a pound in my life for
letters, and I never yet chanced upon one that told me my uncle Peter
had just died, leaving me all his estates in Jamaica, or that my aunt
Susan bequeathed to me all her Mexican stock and the shares in four
tin-mines. This is also from Peach, and marked 'Immediate;'" and he
broke it open. It contained only these lines: "Dark is the word for
a week or two still. On Tuesday your name will appear amongst the
passengers for New York by the 'Persia.' Saucy Sal is a dead break-down,
and we net seven hundred safe; Pot did it with a knitting-needle while
they were plaiting her. What am I to do about the jewels?"

Davis's brow darkened as he crushed the paper in his hand, while he
muttered, "I wish these infernal fools had not been taught to write! He
ought to know that addressing me Captain Christopher never deceived a
'Detective' yet. And this is for the Honorable Annesley Beecher,"
said he, reading aloud the address, "'care of Captain Christopher,
Coblentz--try Bingen--try Neuwied.' A responsible-looking document this;
it looks like a despatch, with its blue-post paper and massive seal;
and what is the name here, in the corner? 'Davenport Dunn,' sure
enough,--'Davenport Dunn.' And with your leave, sir, we 'll see what you
have to say," muttered he, as he broke the seal of the packet. A very
brief note first met his eyes; it ran thus:--

"Dear Sir,--While I was just reading a very alarming account
of Lord Lackington's illness in a communication from Messrs.
Harmer and Gore, the post brought me the enclosed letter for
yourself, which I perceive to be in her Ladyship's hand; I
forward it at once to Brussels, in the hope that it may
reach you there. Should her Ladyship's tidings be better