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“My dust!” gasped Draycott.

“My fivers, by golly!” ejaculated the bookmaker, initiating a plunge among the spoil.

“My Japanese bonds, coupons and all, and–yes, even the manuscript of my work on ‘Polyphyletic Bridal Customs among the mid-Pleistocene Cave Men.’ Hah!” Something approaching a cachinnation of delight closed the professor’s contribution to the pandemonium, and eyewitnesses afterwards declared that for a moment the dignified scientist stood on one foot in the opening movement of a can-can.

“My wife’s diamonds, thank heaven!” cried Sir Benjamin, with the air of a schoolboy who was very well out of a swishing.

“But what does it mean?” demanded the bewildered canon. “Here are my family heirlooms–a few decent pearls, my grandfather’s collection of camei and other trifles–but who–?”

“Perhaps this offers some explanation,” suggested Mr. Carlyle, unpinning an envelope that had been secured to the lining of the bag. “It is addressed ‘To Seven Rich Sinners.’ Shall I read it for you?”

For some reason the response was not unanimous, but it was sufficient. Mr. Carlyle cut open the envelope.

”
My dear Friends

,–Aren’t you glad? Aren’t you happy at this moment? Ah yes; but not with the true joy of regeneration that alone can bring lightness to the afflicted soul. Pause while there is yet time. Cast off the burden of your sinful lusts, for what shall it profit a man if he shall gain the whole world and lose his own soul? (Mark, chap. viii,
v.

36.)

“Oh, my friends, you have had an all-fired narrow squeak. Up till the Friday in last week I held your wealth in the hollow of my ungodly hand and rejoiced in my nefarious cunning, but on that day as I with my guilty female accomplice stood listening with worldly amusement to the testimony of a converted brother at a meeting of the Salvation Army on Clapham Common, the gospel light suddenly shone into our rebellious souls and then and there we found salvation. Hallelujah!

“What we have done to complete the unrighteous scheme upon which we had laboured for months has only been for your own good, dear friends that you are, though as yet divided from us by your carnal lusts. Let this be a lesson to you. Sell all you have and give it to the poor–through the organization of the Salvation Army by preference–and thereby lay up for yourselves treasures where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt and where thieves do not break through and steal. (Matthew, chap. vi, v. 20.)

“Yours in good works,
Private Henry, the Salvationist.

” P.S. (in haste).–I may as well inform you that no crib is really uncrackable, though the Cyrus J. Coy Co.’s Safe Deposit on West 24th Street, N.Y., comes nearest the kernel. And even that I could work to the bare rock if I took hold of the job with both hands–that is to say I could have done in my sinful days. As for you, I should recommend you to change your T.A. to ‘Peanut.’

” U.K.G.”

“There sounds a streak of the old Adam in that postscript, Mr. Carlyle,” whispered Inspector Beedel, who had just arrived in time to hear the letter read.