And I've a varrant
o' search--"
Entering my small library, I espied Mr. Shrig's knobbed staff lying
upon my desk and beside it a letter laid carefully apart from a pile
of unopened missives.
"Is this the letter?"
"The werry same, sir."
"But if you have read it, how comes the seal unbroken?"
"By means of a warm knife-blade, sir."
Wondering, I opened the letter and read as follows:
SIR:
I regret that I am forced by circumstances to quit your service at a
moment's notice, but trust you will find all in order as regards
tradesmen's accounts, your clothes, linen, napery, etc. The key of the
silver you will find under the hearthrug.
Hoping you will find one as zealous as the unfortunate writer,
I remain, sir,
Yours respectfully,
THOMAS CLEGG.
"Very strange!" said I.
"Ah!" sighed Mr. Shrig. "But then life generally is, Mr. Werricker,
sir, if you'll take the trouble to ob-serve; so strange that I ain't
never surprised at nothing--nowhere and nohow, sir. For instance, if
you a-peepin' from the garret winder o' the 'ouse opposite--yonder
across the street--'ad 'appened to ob-serve a young fe-male on her
knees--here beside your werry own desk and veepin' fit to break 'er
'eart, pore soul--you'd ha' been surprised, I think--but I wasn't, no,
not nohow--"
"Do you mean you actually saw a woman here--here in my chambers?"
"Aye, I did, sir!"
"Who--who was she?"
"A wictim o' wiciousness, sir.
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