‘A letter, however—’ I began.
‘Listen to me,’ interrupted Romaine. ‘So soon as your cousin reads the paragraph, what will he do? Put the police upon looking into my correspondence! So soon as you write to me, in short, you write to Bow Street; and if you will take my advice, you will date that letter from France.’
‘The devil!’ said I, for I began suddenly to see that this might put me out of the way of my business.
‘What is it now?’ says he.
‘There will be more to be done, then, before we can part,’ I answered.
‘I give you the whole night,’ said he. ‘So long as you are off ere daybreak, I am content.’
‘In short, Mr. Romaine,’ said I, ‘I have had so much benefit of your advice and services that I am loth to sever the connection, and would even ask a substitute. I would be obliged for a letter of introduction to one of your own cloth in Edinburgh—an old man for choice, very experienced, very respectable, and very secret. Could you favour me with such a letter?’
‘Why, no,’ said he. ‘Certainly not. I will do no such thing, indeed.’
‘It would be a great favour, sir,’ I pleaded.
‘It would be an unpardonable blunder,’ he replied. ‘What? Give you a letter of introduction? and when the police come, I suppose, I must forget the circumstance? No, indeed. Talk of it no more.’