When I had promised to pay for his information and given him an earnest, he told me that he had made two journeys between Carfax and a house in Piccadilly, and had taken from this house to the latter nine great boxes, "main heavy ones," with a horse and cart hired by him for this purpose.
I asked him if he could tell me the number of the house in Piccadilly, to which he replied, "Well, guv'nor, I forgits the number, but it was only a few door from a big white church, or somethink of the kind, not long built.

It was a dusty old 'ouse, too, though nothin' to the dustiness of the 'ouse we tooked the bloomin' boxes from." "How did you get in if both houses were empty ?" "There was the old party what engaged me a waitin' in the 'ouse at Purfleet.

He 'elped me to lift the boxes and put them in the dray.
Curse me, but he was the strongest chap I ever struck, an' him a old feller, with a white moustache, one that thin you would think he couldn't throw a shadder." How this phrase thrilled through me! "Why, 'e took up 'is end o' the boxes like they was pounds of tea, and me a puffin' an' a blowin' afore I could upend mine anyhow, an' I'm no chicken, neither." "How did you get into the house in Piccadilly ?" I asked.
"He was there too.

He must 'a started off and got there afore me, for when I rung of the bell he kem an' opened the door 'isself an' 'elped me carry the boxes into the 'all." "The whole nine ?" I asked.
"Yus, there was five in the first load an' four in the second.

It was main dry work, an' I don't so well remember 'ow I got 'ome." I interrupted him, "Were the boxes left in the hall ?" "Yus, it was a big 'all, an' there was nothin' else in it." I made one more attempt to further matters.