"What, in his own room!" said Cutts with contempt. "Why, he would know
who did it; and where should I be to-morrow? No--in the streets; any one
has a right to pick a pocket in the Queen's highways. In three hours you
shall have the book."




CHAPTER VIII.

MERCURY IS THE PATRON DEITY OF MERCANTILE SPECULATORS, AS WELL AS OF
CRACK-BRAINED POETS; INDEED, HE IS MUCH MORE FAVOURABLE, MORE A
FRIEND AT A PINCH, TO THE FORMER CLASS OF HIS PROTEGES THAN HE IS TO
THE LATTER.

"Poolum per hostes mercurius celer,
Denso paventem sustulit aere."

Poole was sitting with his wife after dinner. He had made a good
speculation that day; little Johnny would be all the better for it a few
years hence, and some other man's little Johnnys all the worse--but each
for himself in this world! Poole was therefore basking in the light of
his gentle helpmate's approving smile. He had taken all extra glass of a
venerable port-wine, which had passed to his cellar from the bins of
Uncle Sam. Commercial prosperity without, conjugal felicity within, the
walls of Alhambra Villa; surely Adolphus Poole is an enviable man! Does
he look so? The ghost of what he was but a few months ago! His cheeks
have fallen in; his clothes hang on him like bags; there is a worried,
haggard look in his eyes, a nervous twitch in his lips, and every now and
then he looks at the handsome Parisian clock on the chimneypiece, and