“‘No, no, you, I want—I—I am very poor, very poor. Will you give me sixpence?’
“I gave him half a crown.
“‘Now, what can I do for you?’
“‘I—left some property here when I went away. You won’t refuse to give it up? I seem poor, but am rich—ah! so rich!—and I will pay you well.’
“‘You mean the forged rouble notes and the plate you engraved them from?’
“‘Ah! Who told you that? Then you have found them and used them? I ran away from them, and wished to lead a better life, but they drew me back; and now you have robbed me, and I shall starve.’
“I explained to the poor wretch what had become of his possessions, and how they were found, and inquired if he had not heard of the fate of his accomplices.
“‘No; I have been wandering about the country, living in hospitals, because they hunt me down from place to place. They will kill me as they did the Posen Jew and the engraver at Stockholm, all because they demanded a fair share. They are dogging me to-night; one of them is outside now. Let me see, what did I come here for? Oh, sixpence. Lend me sixpence; I’ll give you a hundred pounds for it to-morrow.’
“I made a further donation, and, as the man was evidently in a state of delirium, I told my clerk to fetch a medical man. But before he could execute the order the bundle of rags crept down the narrow stairs, sitting on each step, and wriggling by aid of his hands to the next below, whilst we, unable to pass him, looked on, wondering how it would all end.
“The street gained, he stood upright, and, casting a terrified glance around, fled away into the darkness, and we, following the direction he had taken, learned shortly afterwards that a beggar had thrown himself into the Mersey from St. George’s landing-stage, and had sunk to rise no more.