"Oh, no, sir: he paid them all before he went. Poor gentleman,--for
though he was poor, he was the finest and most thorough gentleman I
ever saw!--my heart bled for him. They parted with all their
valuables to discharge their debts: the books and instruments and
busts,--all went; and what I saw, though he spoke so indifferently
about it, hurt him the most,--he sold even the lady's picture. 'Mrs.
Croftson,' said he, 'Mr. ----, the painter, will send for that picture
the day after I leave you. See that he has it, and that the greatest
care is taken of it in delivery.'"

"And you cannot even guess where he has gone to?"

"No, sir; a single porter was sufficient to convey his remaining
goods, and he took him from some distant part of the town."

"Ten thousand devils!" muttered Crauford, as he turned away; "I should
have foreseen this! He is lost now. Of course he will again change
his name; and in the d--d holes and corners of this gigantic puzzle of
houses, how shall I ever find him out? and time presses too! Well,
well, well! there is a fine prize for being cleverer, or, as fools
would say, more rascally than others; but there is a world of trouble
in winning it. But come; I will go home, lock myself up, and get
drunk! I am as melancholy as a cat in love, and about as stupid; and,
faith, one must get spirits in order to hit on a new invention. But
if there be consistency in fortune, or success in perseverance, or wit
in Richard Crauford, that man shall yet be my victim--and preserver!"