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Rh We had several discourses upon the subject, but still I let her know I was resolved he should not know me; but at last I confessed so much, that though I would not let him know who I was or where I lived, I did not care if I knew where he lived, and how I might inquire about him. She took the hint immediately, and her servant being behind the coach, she called him to the coach-side and bade him keep his eye upon that gentleman, and, as soon as the coach came to the end of Whitechapel, he should get down and follow him closely, so as to see where he put up his horse, and then to go into the inn and inquire, if he could, who he was, and where he lived.

The fellow followed diligently to the gate of an inn in Bishopsgate Street, and seeing him go in, made no doubt but he had him fast; but was confounded when, upon inquiry, he found the inn was a thoroughfare into another street, and that the two gentlemen had only rode through the inn, as the way to the street where they were going; and so, in short, came back no wiser than he went.

My kind Quaker was more vexed at the disappointment, at least apparently so, than I was; and, asking the fellow if he was sure he knew the gentleman again if he saw him, the fellow said he had followed him so close and took so much notice of him, in order to do his errand as it ought to be done, that he was very sure he should know him again; and that, besides, he was sure he should know his horse.

This part was, indeed, likely enough; and the kind Quaker, without telling me anything of the matter, caused her man to place himself just at the corner of Whitechapel Church wall every Saturday, in the afternoon, that being the day when the citizens chiefly ride abroad to take the air, and there to watch all the afternoon, and look for him.

It was not till the fifth Saturday that her man came, with a great deal of joy, and gave her an account that he had found out the gentleman; that he was a Dutchman, but a French merchant; that he came from Rouen, and his name was, and that he lodged at Mr 's, on Laurence Pountney's Hill. I was surprised, you may be sure, when she came and told me one evening all the particulars, except that of having set her man to watch. 'I have found out thy Dutch friend', says she, 'and can tell thee how to find him too.' I coloured again as red as fire. 'Then thou hast dealt with the evil one, friend', said I very gravely. 'No, no', says she, 'I have no familiar; but I tell thee I have found him for thee, and his name is So-and-so, and he lives as above recited.'

I was surprised again at this, not being able to imagine how she should come to know all this. However, to put me out of pain, she told me what she had done. 'Well', said I, 'thou art very kind, but this is not worth thy pains; for now I know it, 'tis only to satisfy my curiosity; for I shall not send to him upon any account.' 'Be that as thou wilt', says she. 'Besides', added she, 'thou art in the right to say so to me, for why should I be trusted with it? Though, if I were, I assure thee I should not betray thee.' 'That's very kind', said I; 'and I believe thee; and assure thyself, if I do send to him, thou shalt know it, and be trusted with it too.'

During this interval of five weeks I suffered a hundred thousand perplexities of mind. I was thoroughly convinced I was right as to the person, that it was the man. I knew him so well, and saw him so plain, I could not be deceived. I drove out again in the coach (on pretence of