“Another for M’Indoe, and two quid for me!” he muttered with a chuckle. “Coreing Jim is a smart man, but he has now got to the end of his tether. Alas, alas! such is life—it is the fate of all to be nabbed in the end”; and with this pathetic reflection he left the place, and took his way over to M’Indoe’s home in the Horse Wynd.

Meanwhile the student and the marker were making their way through some dens in Leith Street Terrace, then down to Greenside, and finally to the head-quarters in the “Happy Land,” in Leith Wynd, where they were at last successful in finding the man of whom they were in search.

Coreing Jim was quite a young man, and so polite and proper-spoken that the student opened his eyes in surprise. There was no slang or brutal oaths; indeed, but for the unmistakable brand of crime written on his pallid features, Hutton could not have believed that he was not conversing with one holding as good a position in society as himself. The very way in which he placed the rickety chairs for his visitors, spoke of better days and circumstances; but it was not that which chiefly fascinated the impulsive young student. It was the man’s face. It seemed wondrously familiar in every line to the artist; and yet, think as he might, he could not remember where he had seen it, or something like it, before.

The thief listened patiently to what was required of him—to steal or forcibly borrow a picture, leaving a written note in its place, and return the same at the end of a fortnight.

“I myself can point out the stair to you,” said the student in conclusion. “And you cannot mistake the house, for it is at the very top, with no other door near it.”

“And you say it is a woman who owns it?”

“An old woman, and generally bedridden.”

“Could she not be induced to lend the picture, or sell it you for a consideration?” inquired the thief, demurring a little. “Be sure, if it belongs to a woman—especially a poor one—there will be trouble in securing it; and if she squealed or resisted, I don’t know what I might do in my passion.”

“I have come to you as a last resource,” quietly returned the student. “She will not lend it, or allow me to use it in any way. But I will have no violence; and unless you think you can so far command yourself to do it quietly, without laying a finger on the poor lady, or even frightening, her, I will not have it done; so ponder well before you decide.”

“I’ll do it,” said the thief, after a pause. “How much shall it be?”

“Five pounds. Will that be enough?”

“It’ll do. Give me your address and the note I am to leave in its place, and you shall have the picture in three hours.”

This ended the conversation. The note was written there and then, under some difficulties, and placed in the hands of the intending burglar; and then the student and the marker took their leave and made for their different homes through the dark and deserted streets; while Coreing Jim rummaged about for a few tools and a dark lantern, which he cleaned and adjusted, and disposed of in various parts of his dress. Shortly after twelve o’clock, well buttoned up, and with his cap pulled down over his brow, he slipped up the High Street on the right-hand side, in the shade, and reached the stair in Milne Square unmolested, at the precise time indeed that M’Indoe and Penbank were lugging me in from a station at the south side, as fast as legs could carry me, with the promise of another capture in connection with The Ruffian’s gang.

All was hushed and dark at the top of the stair in Milne Square, and Coreing Jim, who had removed his shoes before ascending the last flight of steps, was feeling gently the panels and fastenings of the