on his honest errand, what was she doing? Lamenting because the papers
hadn't been destroyed and the money kept. Is theft better than lying?

_That_ point lost its sting--the lie dropped into the background and left
comfort behind it. The next point came to the front: _had_ he rendered
that service? Well, here was Goodson's own evidence as reported in
Stephenson's letter; there could be no better evidence than that--it was
even _proof_ that he had rendered it. Of course. So that point was
settled. . . No, not quite. He recalled with a wince that this unknown
Mr. Stephenson was just a trifle unsure as to whether the performer of it
was Richards or some other--and, oh dear, he had put Richards on his
honour! He must himself decide whither that money must go--and Mr.
Stephenson was not doubting that if he was the wrong man he would go
honourably and find the right one. Oh, it was odious to put a man in
such a situation--ah, why couldn't Stephenson have left out that doubt?
What did he want to intrude that for?

Further reflection. How did it happen that _Richards's_ name remained in
Stephenson's mind as indicating the right man, and not some other man's
name? That looked good. Yes, that looked very good. In fact it went on
looking better and better, straight along--until by-and-by it grew into
positive _proof_. And then Richards put the matter at once out of his
mind, for he had a private instinct that a proof once established is
better left so.

He was feeling reasonably comfortable now, but there was still one other
detail that kept pushing itself on his notice: of course he had done that
service--that was settled; but what _was_ that service? He must recall
it--he would not go to sleep till he had recalled it; it would make his
peace of mind perfect. And so he thought and thought. He thought of a