One example will suffice. During a very severe winter, the ground being covered with snow, whilst passing through Belgrave Square, a man accosted me, declaring that he could get no work, and that himself and family were starving.
I inquired his trade: he was a watchmaker. I asked for his address. I wrote down in my pocket-book his name, the street, and the number, and read it to him: it was in Clerkenwell. The next day I went there, made particular inquiries of the landlord, and was informed that no person of that name lodged in the house, or ever had lodged in it. I spoke to several respectable female lodgers also, who gave me the same information, as far as their knowledge went.
Several months after, I met the same professional mendicant in Portland Road. He did not recollect me, and again told the same story, and again gave me the same address. On this, I recalled to his memory that I had seen him before: that he had given me the same address; and that, having myself been there to inquire, I had found that his story was untrue. This statement had allowed him time to invent a new tale.
With well-feigned surprise he suddenly remembered that his wife, about three months ago, had told him that a strange gentleman had called, and had particularly inquired for him; that his wife, knowing that a writ was out against him, and that he was liable to be arrested, had denied that any person of his name resided in the house.
A few days after I went again to Clerkenwell, and received from the residents the answer they had given me three months before. I then went to one of the large shops for tools used by watchmakers near that locality, and having mentioned the subject to the master, he very readily asked amongst his shopmen whether they knew of such a person.
