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 Ruffin would fall into his hands, and departed to his congenial employment, he bade the exacerbated bailiff wait on him at his office at five o'clock that afternoon. He was of the opinion that by that hour his ingenious mind would have found the solution of this writ-serving problem.

At five o'clock, therefore, the bailiff presented himself to the money-lender; and the money-lender beamed on him with a proud smile.

"I've got it," he said with enthusiastic confidence. "It ain't often that the intelleck of Monty fails to do the trick when once it gets working. That little red-haired brat is our game. She has the key of Ruffin's door in her pocket. We take it from her—I'll lend you a 'elping 'and—you open his door and serve the writ; and there you are!" "There may be trouble, guv'nor," said the red-nosed one doubtfully.

"Trouble? Trouble?" said the money-lender with a bright cheerfulness, slapping his pocket so that the money in it clinked. "There's no trouble—no serious trouble where those are, my boy."

The event proved him right. But then there is trouble and trouble.