Time rolled on, and no Roger, true or false, made his appearance.  One day the Dowager happened to see in a newspaper a mention of the fact that there was in Sydney a man named Cubitt, who kept what he called a “Missing Friends’ Office.”  To Cubitt accordingly she wrote a long rambling letter, in which, among other tokens of her state of mind, she gave a grossly incorrect account of her son’s appearance, and even of his age; but Cubitt was to insert her long advertisement in the Australian papers, and he was promised a handsome reward.  Cubitt, in reply, amused the poor lady with vague reports of her son being found in the capacity of a private soldier in New Zealand; and as there was war there at that time the poor lady wrote back in an agony of terror to entreat that he might be bought out of the regiment.  Mr. Cubitt soon perceived the singular person he had to deal with; and his letters from that time were largely occupied with requests for money for services which had no existence out of the letters.  At last came more definite information.  A Mr. Gibbes, an attorney at the little town of Wagga-Wagga, two hundred miles inland from Sydney, had, he said, found the real Roger living “in a humble station of life,” and under an assumed name.  Again money was wanted.  Then Gibbes, apparently determined to steal a march on Cubitt, wrote directly to the credulous lady, and there was much correspondence between them.  At first there were some little difficulties.  The man who, after a certain amount of coyness, had pleaded guilty to being the long-lost heir, still held aloof in a strange way, concealed his present name and occupation, and instead of going home at once, preferred to bargain for his return through the medium of an attorney and the keeper of a missing-friends’ office.  All this, however, did not shake the faith of Lady Tichborne.  Then he gave accounts of himself which did not in the least tally with the facts of Roger’s life.  He said he was born in Dorsetshire, whereas Roger was born in Paris; he accounted for being an illiterate man by saying that he had suffered greatly in childhood from St. Vitus’s dance, which had interfered with his studies.  “My son,” says Lady Tichborne, in reply, “never had St. Vitus’s dance.”  When asked if he had not been in the army, he replied, “Yes,” but that he did not know much about it, because he had merely enlisted as a private soldier “in the Sixty-sixth Blues,” and had been “bought off” by his father after only thirteen days’ service.  What ship did you leave Europe in? inquired Mr. Gibbes, with a view of sending further tokens of identity to the Dowager.  To this inquiry, Roger Tichborne might have been expected to answer in “La Pauline,” but, as was shown in the trial, this mysterious person replied, in “The Jessie Miller.”  “And when did she sail?” “On the 28th of November, 1852,” was the reply; whereas Roger sailed on the 1st of March, 1853.  Asked as to where he was educated, the long-lost heir replied,