The man knew Robert Belcher, and he knew that the last question had a great deal more in it than would appear to the ordinary listener.
"Lift me out of the gutter," said he, "and keep me out, and—command me."
"I have a little business on hand," said Mr. Belcher, "that you can do, provided you will let your drink alone—a business that I am willing to pay for. Do you remember a man by the name of Benedict—a shiftless, ingenious dog, who once lived in Sevenoaks?"
"Very well."
"Should you know him again, were you to see him?"
'I think I should."
"Do you know you should? I don't want any thinking about it. Could you swear to him?"
"Yes. I don't think it would trouble me to swear to him."
"If I were to show you some of his handwriting, do you suppose that would help you any?"
"It—might."