But I declined to go upstairs, as it was probable I might meet Mrs.
Snale there. So I said that we had better go into the counting-house,
a little place boxed off at the end of the shop, but with no door to
it. As soon as we got in I began.

"Mr. Snale, I have been much troubled by a letter which has appeared in
last week's Sentinel. Although disguised, it evidently refers to me,
and to be perfectly candid with you, I cannot help thinking you wrote
it."

"Dear me, sir, may I ask WHY you think so?"

"The internal evidence, Mr. Snale, is overwhelming; but if you did not
write it, perhaps you will be good enough to say so."

Now Mr. Snale was a coward, but with a peculiarity which I have marked
in animals of the rat tribe. He would double and evade as long as
possible, but if he found there was no escape, he would turn and tear
and fight to the last extremity.

"Mr. Rutherford, that is rather--ground of an, of an--what shall I
say?--of an assumptive nature on which to make such an accusation, and
I am not obliged to deny every charge which you may be pleased to make
against me."

"Pardon me, Mr. Snale, do you then consider what I have said is an
accusation and charge? Do you think that it was wrong to write such a
letter?"