s good
reading--but I needn't tell you--no LEGAL evidence. But it's proof
enough to stop them from ever trying it again,--when the existence of
this record is made known. Bribery is a hard thing to fix on a man; the
only witness is naturally particeps criminis;--but it would not be easy
for them to explain away this rascal's record. One or two things I don't
understand: What's this opposite the Hon. X's name, 'Took the medicine
nicely, and feels better?' and here, just in the margin, after Y's,
'Must be labored with?'"

"I suppose our California slang borrows largely from the medical and
spiritual profession," returned Thatcher. "But isn't it odd that a man
should keep a conscientious record of his own villainy?"

Harlowe, a little abashed at his want of knowledge of American metaphor,
now felt himself at home. "Well, no. It's not unusual. In one of
those books yonder there is the record of a case where a man, who had
committed a series of nameless atrocities, extending over a period of
years, absolutely kept a memorandum of them in his pocket diary. It was
produced in Court. Why, my dear fellow, one half our business arises
from the fact that men and women are in the habit of keeping letters
and documents that they might--I don't say, you know, that they OUGHT,
that's a question of sentiment or ethics--but that they MIGHT destroy."

Thatcher half-mechanically took the telegram of poor Carmen and threw it
in the fire. Harlowe noticed the act and smiled.

"I'll venture to say, however, that there's nothing in the bag that YOU
lost that need give you a moment's uneasiness. It's only your rascal or
fool who carries with him that which makes him his own detective."

"I had a friend," continued Harlowe, "a clever fellow enough, but who
was so foolish as to seriously complicate himself with a woman. He was
himself the soul of honor, and at the beginning of their correspondence
he proposed that they should each return the other's letters with their
answer. They did so for years, but it cost him ten thousand dollars and
no end of trouble after all."

"Why?" asked Thatcher simply.

"Because he was such an egotistical ass as TO KEEP THE LETTER PROPOSING
IT, which she had duly returned, among his papers as a sentimental
record. Of course somebody eventually found it."

"Good night," said Thatcher, rising abruptly. "If I stayed here much
longer I should begin to disbelieve my own mother."

"I have known of such hereditary