I can leave it in another cab, or drop it in the
river."

"Andrew, Andrew," I cried, "you're determined to go to prison! Don't you
know from all the humorous articles you've ever read that, if you _try_
to lose anything, then you never can? It's one of the stock remarks one
makes to women in the endeavour to keep them amused. No, you must think
of some more subtle way of disposing of it."

"I'll pretend it's yours," said Andrew more subtly, and he placed it in
my pocket.

"No, you don't," I said. "But I tell you what I will do. I'll take it
for a week and see if I can get rid of it. If I can't, I shall give it
you back and wash my hands of the whole business--except, of course, for
the monthly letter or whatever it is they allow you at the Scrubbs. You
may still count on me for that."

And then the extraordinary thing happened. The next morning I received a
letter from a stranger, asking for some simple information which I could
have given him on a post-card. And so I should have done--or possibly, I
am afraid, have forgotten to answer at all--but for the way that the
letter ended up.

"_Yours very truly_,
_ERNEST M. WOOLMAN._"

The magic initials! It was a chance not to be missed. I wrote
enthusiastically back and asked him to lunch.

He came. I gave him all the information he wanted, and lots more.
Whether he was a pleasant sort of person or not I hardly noticed; I was
so very pleasant myself.

He returned my enthusiasm. He asked me to dine with him the following
week. A little party at the Savoy--his birthday, you know.

I accepted gladly. I rolled up at the party with my little present ... a
massive silver cigar-case ... suitably engraved.

***

So there you are. He clings to me. He seems to have formed the absurd
idea that I am fond of him. A few months after that evening at the Savoy
he was married. I was invited to the wedding--confound him. Of course I
had to live up to my birthday present; the least I could do was an
enormous silver cigar-box (not engraved), which bound me to him still
more strongly.

By that time I realised that I hated him. He was pushing, familiar,
everything that I disliked. All my friends wondered how I had become so
intimate with him ...

Well, now they know. And the original E. M. W., if he has the sense to
read this article, knows. If he cares to prosecute Ernest Merrowby
Woolman for being in possession of stolen goods I shall be glad to give
him any