heard him say 'Bless my soul—who'd have thought it!'"
Collingwood picked up the book which the boy indicated—a thick, substantially bound volume, inside one cover of which was a linen pocket, wherein were some loose maps and plans of Barford.
"These what he took out?" he asked, holding them up.
"Yes, sir, but there was another paper, with writing on it—a biggish sheet of paper—written all over."
"Did you see what the writing was? Did you see any of it?"
"No, sir—only that it was writing. I was dusting those shelves out, over there; when I heard Mr. Bartle say what he did. I just looked round, over my shoulder—that was all."
"Was he reading this paper that you speak of?"
"Yes, sir—he was holding it up to the gas, reading it."
"Do you know what he did with it?"
"Yes, sir—he folded it up and put it in his pocket."
"Did he say any more—make any remark?"
"No, sir. He wrote a letter then."
"At once?"
"Yes, sir—straight off. But he wasn't more than a minute writing it. Then he sent me to post it at the pillar-box, at the end of the Alley."
"Did you read the address?"
The lad turned to a book which stood with others in a rack over the chimney-piece, and tapped it with his finger.
"Yes, sir—because Mr. Bartle gave orders when I first came here that a register of every letter sent out was to be kept—I've always entered them in this book."
