"What!" I cried, in a tone of reproach, "is this your friendship? I
thought, just now, that you said Dawson had been an old and firm
associate of yours."

"An old one, your honour; but not a firm one. A short time ago, I was in
great distress, and he and Thornton had, God knows how! about two
thousand pounds between them; but I could not worm a stiver out of
Dawson--that gripe-all, Thornton, got it all from him."

"Two thousand pounds!" said I, in a calm voice, though my heart beat
violently; "that's a great sum for a poor fellow like Dawson. How long
ago is it since he had it?"

"About two or three months," answered Jonson.

"Pray, have you seen much of Dawson lately?" I asked.

"I have," replied Jonson.

"Indeed!" said I. "I thought you told me, just now, that you were
unacquainted with his residence?"

"So I am," replied Jonson, coldly, "it is not at his own house that I
ever see him."

I was silent, for I was now rapidly and minutely weighing the benefits
and disadvantages of trusting Jonson as he had desired me to do.

To reduce the question to the simplest form of logic, he had either the
power of assisting my investigation, or he had not: if not, neither could