“Hit or miss, I’ll chance it to-night” Those words were the first that issued from Mat’s lips on the morning after Mr. Blyth’s visit, as he stood alone amid the festive¹ relics² of the past evening, in the front room at Kirk Street. “To-night,” he repeated to himself, as he pulled off his coat and prepared to make his toilette for the day in a pail of cold water, with the assistance of a short bar of wholesome³ yellow soap.

Though it was still early, his mind had been employed for some hours past in considering how the second and only difficulty, which now stood between him and the possession of the Hair Bracelet⁴, might best be overcome. Having already procured⁵ the first requisite⁶ for executing his design, how was he next to profit by what he had gained? Knowing that the false key would be placed in his hands that evening, how was he to open Mr. Blyth’s bureau without risking discovery by the owner, or by some other person in the house?

To this important question he had as yet found no better answer than was involved in the words he had just whispered to himself, while preparing for his morning ablutions. As for any definite plan, by which to guide himself; he was desperately⁷ resigned to trust for the discovery of it to the first lucky chance which might be brought about by the events of the day. “I should like though to have one good look by daylight round that place they call the Painting Room,” thought Mat, plunging⁹ his face into two handsful of hissing¹⁰ soap-suds.

He was still vigorously engaged over the pail of cold water, when a loud yawn, which died away gradually into a

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