at this room—is there a chair out of place? Not
if I know it! Look at me. Am I dusty? am I
dirty? am I half shaved? Am I, in brief, a
speckless pauper, or am I not? Mind! I take
no credit to myself; the nature of the man, my
dear girl—the nature of the man!"

He opened one of the books. Magdalen was
no judge of the admirable correctness with which
the accounts inside were all kept; but she could
estimate the neatness of the handwriting, the
regularity in the rows of figures, the mathematical
exactness of the ruled lines in red and black
ink, the cleanly absence of blots, stains, or
erasures. Although Captain Wragge's inborn sense
of order was, in him—as it is in others—a sense
too inveterately mechanical to exercise any
elevated moral influence over his actions, it had
produced its legitimate effect on his habits, and
had reduced his rogueries as strictly to method
and system as if they had been the commercial
transactions of an honest man.

"In appearance, my system looks complicated?"
pursued the captain. "In reality, it is
simplicity itself. I merely avoid the errors of
inferior practitioners. That is to say, I never plead
for myself; and I never apply to rich people
—both fatal mistakes which the inferior
practitioner perpetually commits. People with small
means sometimes have generous impulses in
connexion with money—rich people, never. My
lord, with forty thousand a year; Sir John, with
property in half a dozen counties—those are the
men who never forgive the genteel beggar for
swindling them out of a sovereign; those are the
men who send for the mendicity officers; those
are the men who take care of their money. Who
are the people who lose shillings and sixpences,
by sheer thoughtlessness? Servants and small
clerks, to whom shillings and sixpences are of
consequence. Did you ever hear of Rothschild
or Baring dropping a fourpenny-piece down a
gutter-hole. Fourpence in Rothschild's pocket
is safer than fourpence in the pocket of that
woman who is crying stale shrimps in Skeldergate
at this moment. Fortified by these sound
principles, enlightened by the stores of written
information in my commercial library, I have
ranged through the population for years past,
and have raised my charitable crops with the
most cheering success. Here, in book Number
One are all my Districts mapped out, with the
prevalent public feeling to appeal to in each:—
Military District, Clerical District, Agricultural
District; Etcetera, Etcetera. Here, in Number
Two, are my cases that I plead:—Family of an
officer who fell at Waterloo; Wife of a poor
curate stricken down by nervous debility;
Widow of a grazier in difficulties gored to death by
a mad bull; Etcetera, Etcetera. Here, in Number
Three, are the people who have heard of the
officer's family, the curate's wife, the grazier's
widow, and the people who haven't; the people
who have said Yes, and the people who have said
No; the people to try again, the people who
want a fresh case to stir them up, the people who
are doubtful, the people to beware of; Etcetera,
Etcetera. Here, in Number Four, are my
Adopted Handwritings of public characters; my
testimonials to my own worth and integrity; my
Heartrending Statements of the officer's family,
the curate's wife, and the grazier's widow, stained
with tears, blotted with emotion; Etcetera,
Etcetera. Here, in Numbers Five and Six, are my
own personal subscriptions to local charities,
actually paid in remunerative neighbourhoods, on
the principle of throwing a sprat to catch a
herring; also, my diary of each day's proceedings,
my personal reflections and remarks, my statement
of existing difficulties (such as the difficulty
of finding myself T. W. K., in this interesting
city); my out-goings and in-comings; wind and
weather; politics and public events; fluctuations
in my own health; fluctuations in Mrs. Wragge's
head; fluctuations in our means and meals, our
payments, prospects, and principles; Etcetera,
Etcetera. So, my dear girl, the Swindler's Mill
goes. So you see me, exactly as I am. You
knew, before I met you, that I lived on my wits.
Well! have I, or have I not, shown you that I
have wits to live on?"

"I have no doubt you have done yourself full
justice," said Magdalen, quietly.

"I am not at all exhausted," continued the
captain. "I can go on, if necessary, for the
rest of the evening.—However, if I have done
myself full justice, perhaps I may leave the
remaining points in my character to develop
themselves at future opportunities. For the
present, I withdraw myself from notice. Exit
Wragge. And now to business! Permit me to
inquire what effect I have produced on your own
mind? Do you still believe that the Rogue who
has trusted you with all his secrets, is a Rogue
who is bent on taking a mean advantage of a fair
relative?"

"I will wait a little," Magdalen rejoined, "before
I answer that question. When I came down
to tea, you told me you had been employing your
mind for my benefit. May I ask how?"

"By all means," said Captain Wragge. "You
shall have the net result of the whole mental
process. Said process ranges over the present and
future proceedings of your disconsolate friends,
and of the lawyers who are helping them to find
you. Their present proceedings are, in all probability,
assuming the following form:—The lawyer's
clerk has given you up at Mr. Huxtable's, and
has also, by this time, given you up after careful
inquiry at all the hotels. His last chance is, that
you may send for your box to the cloak-room—
you don't send for it—and there the clerk is
tonight (thanks to Captain Wragge and Rosemary-
lane) at the end of his resources. He will forthwith
communicate that fact to his employers
in London; and those employers (don't be
alarmed!) will apply for help to the detective
police. Allowing for inevitable delays, a
professional spy, with all his wits about him,
and with those handbills to help him privately
in identifying you, will be here, certainly not