Mr. Curlydown’s insinuations had been very cruel, but also very powerful. Bagwax, as he considered the matter that night in his bed, did conscientiously think that a discreet and humane Secretary of State would let the unfortunate husband out of prison on the evidence which he (Bagwax) had already collected. My readers will not perhaps agree with him. The finding of a jury and the sentence of a judge must be regarded seriously by Secretaries of State, and it is probable that Bagwax’s theory would not make itself clear to that great functionary. A good many ‘ifs’ were necessary. If the woman claiming Caldigate as her husband would swear falsely to anything in that matter, then she would swear falsely to everything. If this envelope had never passed through the Sydney post-office then she would have sworn falsely about the letter,— and therefore her evidence would have been altogether false. If this postmark had not been made in the due course of business, and on the date as now seen, then the envelope had not passed regularly through the Sydney office. So far it was all clear to the mind of Bagwax, and almost clear that the postmark could not have been made on the date it bore. The result for which he was striving with true faith had taken such a hold of his mind, he was so adverse to the Smith-Crinkett interest, and so generously anxious for John Caldigate and the poor lady at Folking, that he could not see obstacles;— he could not even clearly see the very obstacles which made his own going to Sydney seem to others to be necessary. And yet he longed to go to Sydney with all his heart. He would be almost broken-hearted if he were robbed of that delight.

In this frame of mind he packed all his envelopes carefully into a large hand-bag, and started in a cab for Sir John Joram’s chambers. ‘Where are you going with them now?’ Curlydown asked, somewhat disdainfully, just as Bagwax was starting. Curlydown had taken upon himself of late to ridicule the envelopes, and had become almost an anti-Caldigatite. Bagwax vouchsafed to make him no reply. On the previous afternoon he had declared his purpose of going at once to Sir John, and had written, as Curlydown well knew, a letter to Sir John’s clerk to make an appointment. Sir John was known to be in town though it was the end of August, being a laborious man who contented himself with a little partridge-shooting by way of holiday. It had been understood that he was to see Bagwax before his departure. All this had been known to Curlydown, and the question had been asked only to exasperate. There was a sarcasm in the ‘now’ which determined Bagwax to start without a word of reply.

As he went down to the Temple in the cab he turned over in his mind a great question which often troubles many of us. How far was he bound to sacrifice himself for the benefit of others? He had done his duty zealously in this matter, and now was under orders to continue the work in a manner which opened up to him a whole paradise of happiness. How grand was this opportunity of seeing something of the world beyond St. Martin’s-le-Grand! And then the pecuniary gain would be so great! Hitherto he had received no pay for what he had done. He was a simple post-office clerk, and was paid for his time by the Crown,— very moderately. On this projected journey all his expenses would be paid for him, and still he would have his salary. Sir John Joram had declared the journey to be quite necessary. The Secretary of State had probably not occupied his mind much with the matter; but in the mind of Bagwax there was a fixed idea that the Secretary thought of little else, and that the Secretary had declared that his hands were tied till Bagwax should have been to Sydney. But his conscience told him that the journey was not necessary, and that the delay would be cruel. In that cab Bagwax made up his mind that he would do his duty like an honest man.

Sir John’s chambers in Pump Court were gloomy without, though commodious and ample within. Bagwax was now well known to the clerk, and was received almost as a friend. ‘I think I’ve got it all as clear as running water, Mr. Jones,’ he said, feeling no doubt that Sir John’s clerk, Mr. Jones, must feel that interest in the case which pervaded his own mind.

‘That will be a good thing for the gentleman in prison, Mr. Bagwax.’

‘And for the lady; poor lady! I don’t know whether I don’t think almost more of her than of him.’ Mr. Jones was returning to his work, having sent in word to Sir John of this visitor’s arrival. But Bagwax was too full of his subject, and of his own honesty, for that. ‘I don’t think that I need go out after all, Mr. Jones.’

‘Oh indeed!’

‘Of course it will be a great sell for me.’

‘Will it, now?’

‘Sydney, I am told, is an Elysium upon earth.’

‘It’s much the same as Botany Bay; isn’t it?’ asked Jones.

‘Oh, not at all; quite a different place. I was reading a book the other day which said that Sydney harbour is the most beautiful thing God ever made on the face of the globe.’

‘I know there used to be convicts there,’ said Mr. Jones, very positively.

‘Perhaps they had a few once, but never many. They have oranges there, and a Parliament almost as good as our own, and a beautiful new post-office. But I shan’t have to go, Mr. Jones. Of course, a man has to do his duty.’

‘Some do, and more don’t. That’s as far as I see, Mr. Bagwax.’

‘I’m all for Nelson’s motto, Mr. Jones,—“England expects that every man this day shall do his duty.”’ In repeating these memorable words Bagwax raised his voice.

‘Sir John don’t like to hear anything through the partition, Mr. Bagwax.’

‘I beg pardon. But whenever I think of that glorious observation I am apt to become a little excited. It’ll go a long way, Mr. Jones, in keeping a man straight if he’ll only say it to himself often enough.’

‘But not to roar it out in an eminent barrister’s chambers. He didn’t hear you, I daresay; only I thought I’d just caution you.’

‘Quite right, Mr. Jones. Now I mean to do mine. I think we can get the party out of prison without any journey to Sydney at all; and I’m not going to stand in the way of it. I have devoted myself to this case, and I’m not going to let my own interest stand in the way. Mr. Jones, let a man be ever so humble, England does expect — that he’ll do his duty.’

‘By George, he’ll hear you, Mr. Bagwax;— he will indeed.’ But at that moment Sir John’s bell was rung, and Bagwax was summoned into the great man’s room. Sir John was sitting at a large office-table so completely covered with papers that a whole chaos of legal atoms seemed to have been deposited there by the fortuitous operation of ages. Bagwax, who had his large bag in his hand, looked forlornly round the room for some freer and more fitting board on which he might expose his documents. But there was none. There were bookshelves filled with books, and a large sofa which was covered also with papers, and another table laden with what seemed to be a concrete chaos,— whereas the chaos in front of Sir John was a chaos in solution. Sir John liked Bagwax, though he was generally opposed to zealous co-operators. There was in the man a mixture of intelligence and absurdity, of real feeling and affectation, of genuine humility as to himself personally and of thorough confidence in himself post-officially, which had gratified Sir John; and Sir John had been quite sure that the post-office clerk had intended to speak the absolute truth, with an honest, manly conviction in the innocence of his client, and in the guilt of the witnesses on the other side. He was therefore well disposed towards Bagwax. ‘Well, Mr. Bagwax he said; ‘so I understand you have got a little further in the matter since I saw you last.’

‘A good deal further, Sir John.’

‘As how? Perhaps you can explain it shortly.’

This was troublesome. Bagwax did not think that he could explain the matter very shortly. He could not explain the matter at all without showing his envelopes; and how was he to show them in the present condition of that room? He immediately dived into his bag and brought forth the first bundle of envelopes. ‘Perhaps, Sir John, I had better put them out upon the floor,’ he said.

‘Must I see all those?’

There were many more bundles within which Bagwax was anxious that the barrister should examine minutely. ‘It is very important, Sir John. It is indeed. It is really altogether a case of postmarks,— altogether. We have never in our branch had anything so interesting before. If we can show that that envelope certainly was not stamped with that postmark in the Sydney post-office on the 10th May 1873, then we shall get him out,— shan’t we?’

‘It will be very material, Mr. Bagwax,’ said Sir John, cautiously.

‘They will all have sworn falsely, and then somebody must have obtained the postmark surreptitiously. There must have been a regular plant. The stamp must have been made up and dated on purpose,— so as to give a false date. Some official in the Sydney post-office must have been employed.’

‘That’s what we want you to find out over there,’ said Sir John, who was not quite so zealous, perhaps not quite so conscientious, as his more humble assistant,— whose mind was more occupied with other matters. ‘You’ll find out all that at Sydney.’

The temptation was very great. Sir John wanted him to go,— told him that he ought to go! Sir John was the man responsible for the whole matter. He, ............