THE CANVAS BAG.
THE magistrate, after greeting his sister, sat down, and wiped his heated brow with a large silk handkerchief. There was a look of satisfaction upon his sensible, intelligent face.
"The police have had a busy night of it," said Mr. Lowndes. "The fellow very nearly got off: but he's been arrested at last, and there's little doubt but that the charge will be brought home to him now."
"What charge—of what do you speak?" asked Mrs. Martin.
"Why of a charge against a scamp called Peter Puller," (Norah could not help starting at the name,) "who is one of a gang of unprincipled fellows who have been trying in different parts of the country to pass a quantity of base coin. We'd information sent down from London—a detective arrived last night, we've had a hunt—which has proved successful. It was quite time for the police to be on the alert, a great deal of mischief has been done already, for the false money is so close an imitation of the good, that the simple folk about here have taken it pretty freely. I saw a poor widow yesterday, who was in bitter distress, finding that the sovereign for which she had sold her pig, was worth no more than a brass farthing."
"What heartless fraud!" exclaimed Mrs. Martin.
"This fellow—this Peter Puller, had some of the false coin on his person when he was caught," continued Mr. Lowndes, "but we have reason to think that we have not found all. Doubtless he would try to get rid of it when he discovered that the police were close on his track."
Mrs. Martin raised her hand to her forehead, as if an idea had struck her.
"Norah, my maid, picked up a canvas bag this morning," she said, "with eight sovereigns in it; she gave it to me to take charge of till we could find to whom it belonged."
"Let's see it by all means," said Mr. Lowndes, taking his spectacles and placing them on his nose.