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He had never been suspected of stealing a silver tea-pot; he had

been maligned respecting a mustard-pot, but it turned out to be

only a plated one. He had known the last witness seven or eight

years; that was merely a coincidence. He didn't call it a

particularly curious coincidence; most coincidences were curious.

Neither did he call it a curious coincidence that true patriotism

was his only motive too. He was a true Briton, and hoped there

were many like him.

The blue-flies buzzed again, and Mr. Attorney-General called Mr.

Jarvis Lorry.

"Mr. Jarvis Lorry, are you a clerk in Tellson's bank?"

"I am."

"On a certain Friday night in November one thousand seven hundred

and seventy-five, did business occasion you to travel between

London and Dover by the mail?"

"It did."

"Were there any other passengers in the mail?"

"Two."

"Did they alight on the road in the course of the night?"

"They did."

"Mr. Lorry, look upon the prisoner. Was he one of those two

passengers?"