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"He's knocking the balls about in the billiard-room."

"And Mr. Oakley?"

"Oh, he's dressing!"

It couldn't have been luckier. I found Sir Nicolas bending over the billiard table; he laid his cue down when I burst in, and said:

"Well, what's fresh now?"

I told him in ten words.

"Good God!" said he; "and what are we to do?"

"Just this," said I, "get your hat and slip down to the bottom of the paddock. You can strike the road to Nottingham there. I shall be by in the cart in two minutes, and I'll pick you up."

"Is there no other course?" he stammered.

"Unless you wish to spend the night in jail," said I, "you must do what I say. You haven't ten seconds to choose—he's almost at the gate."

For a minute he stood to curse and stamp, while his face was as white as the paper I write on. Then he did as I told him; and when I had watched him cross the lawn, I slipped back into the hall and listened at the drawing-room door. The place was quite empty; of that I was sure, and there being no one about, for the others were dressing for dinner, I entered the room and looked round for the stuff.

"Gifts are gifts," said I, "and we've as much right to them as he has, especially to the shiners, which will go into my pocket. He may keep the