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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 40493 ***
+
+                      THE KING OF DIAMONDS
+
+                 A Tale of Mystery and Adventure
+
+                        By LOUIS TRACY
+
+    Author of "The Wings of the Morning," "The Pillar of Light," Etc.
+
+    GROSSET & DUNLAP
+    PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK
+
+    COPYRIGHT 1904.
+    BY
+    EDWARD J. CLODE.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: "INSTANT ACTION IS WORTH A CENTURY OF DIPLOMACY."]
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+  CHAPTER                                                    PAGE
+
+        I. No. 3, Johnson's Mews                                5
+
+       II. On the Edge of the Precipice                        19
+
+      III. What the Meteor Contained                           32
+
+       IV. Isaacstein                                          45
+
+        V. Perplexing a Magistrate                             60
+
+       VI. A Game of Hazard                                    73
+
+      VII. A Business Transaction                              87
+
+     VIII. The Transition                                     105
+
+       IX. A Decisive Battle                                  122
+
+        X. A Step Higher                                      136
+
+       XI. In Clover                                          151
+
+      XII. The Close of One Epoch                             165
+
+     XIII. After Long Years                                   177
+
+      XIV. An Adventure                                       192
+
+       XV. A Face From the Past                               208
+
+      XVI. The Master Fiend                                   223
+
+     XVII. The Inmates of the Grange House                    238
+
+    XVIII. "Revenge is Mine; I Will Repay"                    253
+
+      XIX. Philip Anson Redivivus                             266
+
+       XX. Nemesis                                            281
+
+      XXI. The Rescue                                         293
+
+     XXII. A Settlement of Old Scores                         307
+
+
+
+
+THE KING OF DIAMONDS.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+_No. 3, Johnson's Mews._
+
+
+"Is there no hope, doctor?"
+
+"Absolutely none--now."
+
+"If she had gone to the--the workhouse infirmary--would she have lived?"
+
+The doctor paused. The gulp before that hateful word was not lost on
+him. He tried professional severity, and bestowed some care on the
+buttoning of a glove.
+
+"I am surprised," he said, "that an excellent woman like your mother
+should encourage your feelings of--er--repugnance toward--er----Confound
+it, boy, have you no relatives or friends?"
+
+"No, sir. We are alone in the world."
+
+"And hard up, eh?"
+
+The boy dug a hand into a pocket with the stolid indifference of
+despair. He produced two shillings and some pennies. He picked out the
+silver, and the man reddened in protest.
+
+"Don't be stupid, Philip. That is your name, is it not? When I want my
+fee I will ask for it. Your mother needs a nurse, wine, chicken broth.
+You are old enough to realize that a doctor practicing in a
+neighborhood like this might want such things himself and whistle for
+them. But in the--er--infirmary they are provided by the State."
+
+"Would my mother have lived had she consented to be taken there a month
+ago?"
+
+Again the man wondered at the stony persistence of the questioner, a
+fearless-looking, active boy of fifteen, attired in worn clothes too
+small for him, and wearing an old pair of boots several sizes too large.
+The strong, young face, pinched with vigils and privation, the large,
+earnest eyes, heavy with unshed tears, the lips, quivering in their
+resolute compression over a chin that indicated great strength of
+character, appealed far more to the doctor than the whimpering terror
+with which the children of the poor usually meet the grim vision of
+death.
+
+The wrestle with the glove ceased and a kindly hand rested on Philip's
+shoulder.
+
+"No," came the quiet answer. "May God help you, she would not have
+lived."
+
+"God does not help anybody," was the amazing retort.
+
+The doctor was shocked, visibly so.
+
+"That is a foolish and wicked statement," he said, sternly. "Do not let
+your mother hear such awful words. She has lived and will die a true
+Christian. I have never met a woman of greater natural charm and real
+piety. She has suffered so much that she merits the life eternal. It is
+a reward, not a punishment. Cast away these terrible thoughts; go,
+rather, and kneel by her side in prayer."
+
+For an instant the great brown eyes blazed fiercely at him.
+
+"Am I to pray that my mother shall be taken from me?"
+
+"Even that, if it be God's will."
+
+The gleam of passion yielded to utter helplessness. The boy again
+brought forth his tiny store of money.
+
+"Surely," he said, "I can buy some small amount of wine. In the shops
+they sell things in tins that make chicken broth, don't they? I have a
+fire and a kettle. Would you mind telling me----"
+
+"There, there! You go to your mother, and endeavor to cheer her up. I
+will see what I can do. What! Would you argue with me? Go at once; I
+insist. Listen, she is calling for you!"
+
+In that poor tenement there were no secrets. A rickety staircase,
+crudely built against the retaining wall of the only living room on the
+ground floor, led steeply to an apartment above, and culminated in an
+opening that suggested a trapdoor. The walls, roughly paneled, were well
+provided with shelves and pegs. The back door was fastened with a latch,
+a contrivance rarely seen in the London of to-day. The front window
+looked out into a badly-paved court girt by tumbledown stables. A
+smaller window at the back revealed a dismal yard darkened by lofty
+walls. Although little more than a stone's throw removed from the busy
+Mile End Road, the place was singularly quiet. It was already dead, and
+only waited the coming of men with pickaxes and crowbars to sweep away
+the ruins.
+
+The boy heard his name whispered rather than spoken. The sound
+galvanized him into vivid consciousness.
+
+"Doctor," he said, earnestly, "you will come back?"
+
+"Yes, yes; within half an hour. Tell your mother to expect me."
+
+Philip ran up the stairs. Long practice had enabled him to move with a
+minimum of noise. It was pitiful to see the manner in which he emerged,
+with stealthy activity, into the creaking loft above. Here, at first
+glance, there was an astonishing degree of comfort. Odd pieces of worn
+carpet, neatly joined, covered the floor. The two windows, facing only
+to the front of the dwelling, were curtained. The whitewashed walls were
+almost hidden by cuttings from the colored periodicals published during
+the previous Christmas season. A screen divided the room into two
+compartments, each containing a tiny bed. On one of these, propped up
+with pillows, lay the wasted figure of a woman over whose face the
+shadows were falling fast. The extreme thinness, the waxen pallor, the
+delicate texture of debilitated skin and unnatural brilliancy of the
+eyes, gave her a remarkably youthful appearance. This fantastic trick of
+death in life accentuated the resemblance between mother and son. The
+boy, too, was sharply outlined by hunger, and, in the fading light of a
+March day, the difference between the dread tokens of approaching
+collapse and the transient effects of a scanty regimen on a vigorous
+youth was not readily distinguishable.
+
+"Do you want anything, mother dear?" said the boy, laying his hand
+tenderly on the clammy forehead.
+
+"Only to ask you, Phil, what it was that the doctor told you."
+
+The voice was low and sweet--the diction that of an educated woman. The
+boy, too, though his tones were strong and harsh, spoke with the accent
+of good breeding. His manner and words gained some distinction from a
+slight touch of French elegance and precision. This was only noticeable
+in repose. When excited, or moved to deep feeling, the Continental
+veneer acquired at the Lycée in Dieppe instantly vanished, and he became
+the strenuous, emphatic Briton he undoubtedly was by birth and breeding.
+
+"He said, dearest, that what you wanted was some good wine--nice things
+to eat. He is an awfully fine chap, and I am afraid I was rude to him,
+but he didn't seem to mind it a bit, and he is coming back soon with
+chicken broth and port wine, and I don't know what."
+
+His brave words were well meant, but the mother's heart understood him
+too well to be deceived. A thin hand caught his wrist and feebly drew
+him nearer.
+
+"You say you were rude to him, Phil? How can that be possible? What did
+you say or do to warrant such a description?"
+
+He hesitated for a moment. With rare self-control in one so young, he
+fiercely determined not to communicate his own despair to his mother. So
+he laughed gently.
+
+"We are so jolly hard up, you know, and it sounded strange in my ears to
+talk about expensive luxuries which I could not buy. He has often told
+us, dear, that you would be better cared for in the infirmary. I am
+afraid now he was right, only we couldn't bear--to be parted. Could we,
+mother?"
+
+Not all his valor could control his tremulous lips. A beautiful smile
+illumined the face of the invalid.
+
+"So you are trying to hoodwink me, Phil, for the first time. I know what
+the doctor said. He told you that I could not recover, and that I had
+not long to live; in a word, that I am dying."
+
+Then the boy gave way utterly. He flung himself down by the side of the
+bed and buried his face in the coverlet.
+
+"Oh, mother, mother!" he wailed, and his passionate sobs burst forth
+with alarming vehemence. The poor woman vainly strove to soothe him. She
+could not move, being paralyzed, but her fingers twined gently in his
+hair, and she gasped, brokenly:
+
+"Phil, darling, don't make it harder for me. Oh, calm yourself, my dear
+one, if only for my sake. I have so much to say to you, and perhaps so
+little time. Be strong, Philip. Be strong and brave, and all will be
+well with you. I know you will miss me--we have been all in all to each
+other since your father's death. But my memory must be sweet, not bitter
+to you. When you think of me I want the recollection to inspire you to
+do that which is right regardless of consequences, to strive always for
+honor and for the approbation of your own conscience. My own dear boy,
+we must bow to the will of God. We have indeed been sorely tried, you
+far more than I, for I can look back on years of perfect happiness with
+a loving husband and a delightful child, whereas you have been plunged
+into poverty and misery at an age when life should be opening before you
+with every promise of a successful career. Perhaps, Phil, your trials
+have come to you early, as mine have found me late. I trust I have borne
+reverses of health and fortune with patience and resignation. My present
+sufferings will be a lasting joy to me if, in the life to come, I can
+know that my example has been a stimulus to you amidst the chances and
+changes of your career. Promise me, darling, that you will resign
+yourself to the decrees of Providence even in the bitter hour of our
+parting."
+
+Her voice failed. Tears stood in her eyes. The knowledge came to her
+anew that natural emotions can at times conquer all restraints. The
+maternity strong within her clamored for the power to shield her
+offspring from the dangers that would beset him. There was a maddening
+pain in the thought that a few brief hours or minutes might unclasp her
+arms from him forever.
+
+It was Phil who first gave utterance to the wild protest in their souls.
+
+"Mother," he mourned, bitterly, "I don't want to live without you. Let
+us die together. If you cannot stay with me, then I swear----"
+
+But a scream of terror, so shrill and vehement that it seemed to be
+almost miraculous from so frail a form, froze the vow on his lips.
+
+"Phil! What are you saying? Oh, my son, my son, do not break my heart
+before I die. Kiss me, dearest. I am cold. I can scarce see you. Come
+nearer. Let me look once more into your brave eyes. You will be a great
+man, Phil. I know it. Who should know your character like your mother?
+But you must have faith in God always. I have prayed for you, and my
+prayers will surely be granted. I will watch over you. If you are in
+danger my spirit will come back to you across the void. We cannot be
+parted. Oh, God, it is impossible! You are the life of my life. I am not
+dead while you still live."
+
+Even as she spoke, her left hand and arm, hitherto untouched by the
+cruel blight which had made her a helpless invalid during many weary
+months, became numb and rigid. She was dying now, not with the struggle
+against the king of terrors which often marks the passing of humanity,
+but with a slow torpidity more akin to sleep.
+
+Her brain was clear, but the stock of nervous force had sunk so low that
+her few remaining words were spoken with difficulty. They were mostly
+endearing expressions, appeals to her loved one to hope and pray, to
+trust steadfastly in the all-wise power that would direct his destiny.
+With the last flicker of existence the maternal instinct became dominant
+again and she asked him not to forget her.
+
+The boy could only murmur agonized appeals to the merciless unseen not
+to rob him of the only being he held dear on earth, but even in that
+awful moment he had the strength to cease his frantic protests when they
+seemed to cause her pain, and he forced himself to join her in prayer.
+
+When the doctor brought a nurse and some small store of the much-needed
+delicacies, Mrs. Anson was already unconscious.
+
+The boy, aroused from frenzy by the steps on the stairs, shrieked
+incoherently:
+
+"I have killed my mother. See! She is dead. I killed her. I made her
+cry. You told me to look after her until you returned. She cried and
+screamed because I spoke so wildly. It is all my fault. I----"
+
+"Hush! Your mother is not dead, but dying. Not all the skill of man can
+save her. Let her die in peace."
+
+No other words could have checked the wild torrent of lament that surged
+from that wounded heart. So she still lived. There remained a faint
+flicker of life. Not yet had she passed the dreadful barrier of
+eternity. Through his blinding tears he thought he could discern a smile
+on the worn face. The doctor watched Phil more narrowly than the sunken
+frame on the bed. It was best that the paroxysm of grief should go
+untrammeled. The nurse, a young woman unused as yet to the
+inevitableness of death, moved timidly toward the windows and adjusted
+the curtains to admit more light.
+
+At last, when Phil's strength yielded to the strain of his sorrow and
+the very force of his agony had spent itself, the doctor leaned over the
+inanimate form and looked into the eyes.
+
+"It has ended, Phil," he whispered. "Your mother is in heaven!"
+
+In heaven! What a tocsin of woe in a message of faith! The boy suddenly
+stood up. Hope was murdered within him. His tears ceased and his labored
+breathing came under control with a mighty effort. He stooped and kissed
+the pale cheeks twice.
+
+"Good-by, mother," he said, and the dull pain in his voice was so
+heartrending that the nurse's sympathies mastered her. She burst out
+crying. Professional instinct came to the doctor's aid. He sharply
+reprimanded the half-hysterical woman and sent her off on an errand to
+bring those whose duty it is to render the last services to frail
+mortality. The boy he led downstairs. He was a busy man, with many
+claims on his time, but this strange youngster interested him, and he
+resolved to turn the boy's thoughts forcibly away from the all-absorbing
+horror of his mother's death.
+
+"Have you a tumbler or a cup?" he said, sharply.
+
+Phil handed him a tumbler. The doctor poured out some wine taken from
+the nurse's basket, soaked a piece of bread in the liquor, and gave it
+to the boy with an imperative command to eat it instantly.
+
+Somewhat to his surprise, he was obeyed. While Phil was devouring the
+food of which he stood so greatly in need, the doctor reviewed the
+circumstances of this poverty-stricken household so far as they were
+known to him. Mr. and Mrs. Anson had occupied a fairly good position in
+Dieppe, where Philip's father was the agent of an old-established London
+firm of coal shippers. About two years earlier, both husband and wife
+were seriously injured in a motor car accident. Mr. Anson sustained
+concussion of the brain, and practically never regained his senses,
+though he lingered for some weeks and was subjected to two operations.
+Mrs. Anson's spine was damaged, with the result that she changed from a
+bright and vigorous woman into a decrepit invalid doomed to early death
+from slow paralysis.
+
+When the great expenses attendant on these mishaps were paid, she found
+herself not only absolutely poor, but rendered incapable of the
+slightest effort to turn her many and varied talents to account in order
+to earn a livelihood. She came to London, where her late husband's
+employers generously gave her rent-free possession of the tenement in
+which she was lying dead, helped her with funds to furnish it modestly,
+and found a clerkship for Philip with a promise of early promotion.
+
+But the cup of sorrow is seldom left half filled. Barely had the widow
+settled down to a hopeful struggle on behalf of her beloved son than a
+quarrel between partners led to the sale of the firm's business to a
+limited liability company. Economies were effected to make way for
+salaried directors. Philip was dismissed, with several other junior
+employees, and the stable yard was marked out as a suitable site for the
+storage of coal required by the local factories.
+
+This development took place early in the New Year, and the new company
+allowed Mrs. Anson to occupy her tiny abode until the last day of March.
+It was now March 5th, and how the widow and her son had lived during the
+past two months the doctor could only guess from the gradual depletion
+of their little store of furniture.
+
+It was odd that such an intelligent and well-bred woman should be so
+completely shut off from the rest of the world, and his first question
+to Phil sought to determine this mystery.
+
+"Surely," he said, "there is some one to whom you can appeal for help.
+Your father and mother must have had some relatives--even distant
+cousins--and, if they are written to, a friendly hand may be
+forthcoming."
+
+Philip shook his head. The mere taste of food had provoked a ravenous
+appetite. He could not eat fast enough. The doctor stayed him.
+
+"Better wait a couple of hours, Phil, and then you can tackle a hearty
+meal. That's the thing. I like to see such prompt obedience, but you
+certainly have wonderful self-control for one so young. I may tell you,
+to relieve present anxieties, that a few employees of your father's firm
+have guaranteed the expenses of your mother's funeral, and they also
+gave me a sovereign to tide you over the next few days."
+
+Funeral! The word struck with sledge-hammer force. Phil had not thought
+of that. He remembered the dismal pomp of such events in this squalid
+locality, the loud sobbing of women, the hard-faced agony of men, the
+frightened curiosity of children. His mother, so dear, so tender, so
+soft-cheeked--the bright, beautiful, laughing woman of their life in
+Dieppe--to be taken away from him forever, and permitted to fade slowly
+into nothingness in some dreadful place, hidden from the sunshine and
+the flowers she loved! For the first time he understood death. When his
+father was killed his mother was left. Anxious tending on her dispelled
+the horror of the greater tragedy. Now all was lost. The tears that he
+hated were welling forth again, and he savagely bit his lip.
+
+"You have been--very good--to us, doctor," he forced himself to say. "If
+ever--I can repay you----"
+
+"There, there, not a word! Bless my soul, yours is a difficult case."
+
+Again the doctor tackled his glove. He glanced at his watch.
+
+"Four o'clock! I am an hour late on my rounds. No, Phil. Don't go
+upstairs. There are some women coming. Wait until they have tended your
+mother. And--one last word. It will do you no good to keep vigil by her
+side. Best think of her as living, not dead. You will be grateful for my
+advice in after life."
+
+The women arrived, coarse but kindly-hearted creatures. One of them gave
+the boy a packet of letters.
+
+"I found 'em under the dear lydy's pillow," she said. Neither poverty
+nor death robbed Mrs. Anson of the respect paid to her by all who came
+in contact with her.
+
+He sat down, untied a string which bound the letters together, and
+looked at the address on the first envelope. It bore his mother's name
+and a recent postmark. Wondering dolefully what correspondence she could
+have had during these later months that demanded such careful
+preservation, he took out the letter. Suddenly he hesitated. Perhaps
+these documents alluded to something which his mother did not wish him
+to know. For an instant his impulse was to consign the packet to the
+fire. No; that might be wrong. He would glance at their general purport
+and then commit them to the flames if he thought fit.
+
+The letter in his hand was headed: "The Hall, Beltham, Devon," and dated
+about a month earlier. It read:
+
+     "DEAR MADAM: I am requested by Sir Philip Morland to ask you not to
+     trouble him with further correspondence. This is the fourth time I
+     have been desired by him to write in these terms, so please note
+     that your letters will in future remain unanswered.
+
+     "Yours truly,
+     "LOUISA MORLAND."
+
+The curt incivility of the note brought an angry flush to the boy's
+face. Who was Sir Philip Morland that he should dare to offer this
+insult to a lady? Evidently a relative, and a near one, for Morland was
+his mother's name, and his own Christian name suggested a family
+connection. Yet she had never spoken of any such person.
+
+Three other letters, of preceding dates, showed that "Louisa Morland"
+kept accurate reckoning. There were half a dozen more, from a firm of
+solicitors. Some of these were merely formal acknowledgments of letters
+received and forwarded, but one stated that they "were instructed by
+Lady Morland to inform Mrs. Anson that Sir Philip Morland declined
+either to see or hear from her."
+
+That was all. Philip sprang up with face aflame. He was alone in the
+house now, alone with his dead mother.
+
+He went upstairs, with the letters crushed in his right hand as though
+he would choke a reptile which had stung the only being he loved. He
+bent over the shrunken form, so placid, so resigned, so angelic in the
+peace of death, and his hot tears fell unchecked.
+
+"You poor darling," he murmured, "I believe you humbled yourself even to
+beg from these people for my sake. What can I do to show my love for
+you?"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+_On the Edge of the Precipice._
+
+
+On Friday evening, March 19th, a thunderstorm of unusual violence broke
+over London. It was notably peculiar in certain of its aspects. The
+weather was cold and showery, a typical day of the March equinox. Under
+such conditions barometric pressure remains fixed rather than variable,
+yet many whose business or hobby it is to record such facts observed a
+rapid shrinkage of the mercury column between the hours of six and
+seven. A deluge of rain fell for many minutes, and was followed, about
+7.30 P. M., by a mad turmoil of thunder and an astounding electrical
+display not often witnessed beyond the confines of the giant mountain
+ranges of the world.
+
+So violent and unnerving was the outburst that the social life of London
+was paralyzed for the hour. Theater parties, diners in the fashionable
+restaurants, the greater millions anxious to get away from offices and
+shops, those eager alike to enter and leave the charmed circle of the
+four-mile radius, were ruthlessly bidden to wait while the awesome
+forces of nature made mad racket in the streets. All horseflesh was
+afraid. The drivers of cabs and omnibuses were unable to make progress.
+They had sufficient ado to restrain their maddened animals from adding
+the havoc of blind charges through the streets to the general confusion
+caused by the warring elements. Telegraph and telephone wires became not
+only useless but dangerous, and the suburban train service was
+consequently plunged into a tangle from which it was not extricated
+until midnight.
+
+So general was the confusion, so widespread the public alarm, that the
+sudden cessation of the uproar at eight o'clock caused more prayers of
+thankfulness to be uttered in the metropolis than had been heard for
+many a day. But worse remained. Thus far the lightning had been
+appalling, brilliantly lurid, but harmless. At ten o'clock the storm
+raged again, this time without the preliminary downfall of rain, and the
+lightning, though less sensational in appearance, was demoniac in
+effect, levying a toll on human lives, causing fires and general damage
+to property, accounts of which filled many columns of the newspapers
+next morning. This second outburst was succeeded by heavy and continuous
+rain. At the hour when the theaters emptied their diminishing audiences
+into the streets London wore its normal rain-sodden aspect. It was not
+until the following day that people fully understood the magnitude and
+terrifying results of the later display.
+
+About a quarter to eight, while the first storm was at its height, a
+carriage and pair dashed into a fashionable West End square and pulled
+up outside a mansion cast in the stereotyped mold of the early Victorian
+period. The horses, overfed and underworked, had been rendered frantic
+by the drive through the park from the further west. Fortunately, they
+knew this halting place, or the coachman would never have succeeded in
+stopping them. As it was, they sweated white with fear, and the footman,
+shouting to the occupants of the carriage that he could not attend to
+the door, ran to their heads after giving a vigorous tug at the house
+bell.
+
+A boy, tall and thin, and scantily attired for such weather, who had
+taken shelter in the dark portico of the mansion, ran forward to offer
+his services at the carriage door. A bundle of evening papers, covered
+with a piece of sacking, somewhat impeded the use of his left hand, and,
+as it happened, in his right he held a large bun on which he had just
+commenced to dine.
+
+Before he could turn the handle the carriage door opened from the
+inside. A man sprang out.
+
+"Get out of the way," he said, impatiently, and the newsboy obeyed, glad
+that he had not followed his first impulse and flung away the bun.
+
+A vivid flash of lightning made the horses rear and plunge.
+
+"Look sharp, Elf," cried the stranger, in no more cordial tone. "Gather
+your wraps and jump out. On a night like this these nervous brutes----"
+
+A peal of thunder that rattled the windows interrupted him. The two
+animals reared and backed with one accord. The plucky footman, hanging
+onto the crossbars of the bits, was lifted off his feet and banged
+violently against the pole. He was forced to let go, and fell,
+staggering backward some yards before he dropped. There was a smash of
+iron and wood, and the near hind wheel of the carriage jammed against
+the curb. A slight scream came from the interior. Certain that the
+vehicle would turn over instantly, the man who had alighted slammed the
+door and sprang clear. In doing so he tripped over the newsboy and fell
+heavily on the pavement. The boy, quicker to note that the breaking of
+the pole had given a momentary respite, rushed into the roadway,
+throwing away both precious bun and still more precious stock of unsold
+papers.
+
+He wrenched the other door open, and shouted:
+
+"This way, madam! Quick!"
+
+"Madam" was quick. She sprang right into his arms, and proved to be a
+girl of twelve or thereabouts, dressed all in white, and wrapped in an
+ermine cloak.
+
+Over went the carriage with a fearful crash. The coachman managed to
+jump from the box into the roadway. He retained the reins and whip in
+his grasp, and now, losing his temper, lashed the struggling horses
+savagely. This cowed them, and they ceased their antics.
+
+The boy and the girl found themselves standing on the sidewalk, close to
+the ruined vehicle.
+
+"You have saved my life!" said the girl, sweetly, and without any trace
+of the nervousness which might naturally be expected after such a narrow
+escape from a serious accident.
+
+The boy noted that her eyes were large and blue, that she wore a great
+shining ornament in her hair, and that she appeared to be dressed in
+somewhat fanciful manner, though the big cloak she wore concealed the
+details.
+
+The door of the mansion opened, and servants came running out.
+
+Suddenly the boy received a violent blow on the side of the head.
+
+"Confound you!" shouted the man who had fallen on the pavement, "why
+didn't you get out of the way when I told you?"
+
+The boy, astounded by such recognition of his timely help, made no
+reply, but the girl protested vehemently.
+
+"Oh, uncle," she cried, "why did you strike him? He got me out of the
+carriage just before it turned over. He did, indeed!"
+
+Another vivid flash of lightning illumined the scene. It lit up the
+group with starling brilliancy. The boy, still somewhat shaken by the
+vicious blow, was nevertheless able to see clearly the pale, handsome,
+but dissipated features of his enraged assailant, whose evening dress
+and immaculate linen were soiled by the black mud of the pavement. The
+girl, dainty and fairy-like, a little maid of aristocratic type, and of
+a beauty that promised much in later years, was distressed now and
+almost tearful.
+
+Through the crowd of frightened servants, augmented by a few daring
+pedestrians, a burly policeman, gigantic in waterproof overalls, was
+advancing with official bluster.
+
+"What has happened?" he demanded. "Is anybody hurt?"
+
+The man answered:
+
+"My horses were startled by the storm. I jumped out and was endeavoring
+to extricate my niece when this wretched boy got in the way."
+
+"Uncle," protested the girl, "you closed the door on me, and the
+boy----"
+
+"Shut up!" he growled, curtly. "Go inside the house!"
+
+But his niece shared with him at least one characteristic. She possessed
+the family temper.
+
+"I will not go away and let you say things which are untrue. Listen to
+me, Mr. Policeman. Lord Vanstone did close the door because he thought
+the carriage would turn over on top of him. For some reason the accident
+did not happen immediately, and the boy ran round to the other side and
+helped me out just in time."
+
+"Confound the brat! I think he was the real cause of the whole affair.
+Why was he hiding in my doorway?"
+
+Lord Vanstone was more enraged than ever by the girl's obstinate defense
+of her rescuer and her insistence on his own seeming cowardice.
+
+"I was not hiding. I only took shelter from the storm. I tried to help
+you because the footman was struggling with the horses. I do not claim
+any credit for simply opening a door and helping the young lady to
+alight, but I lost both my dinner and my papers in doing so."
+
+Everyone experienced a shock of surprise at hearing the boy's elegant
+diction. The policeman was puzzled. He instantly understood the facts,
+but dared not browbeat an earl.
+
+"You do not bring any charge against him, my lord?" he said.
+
+But his lordship deigned no reply. He told the coachman to arrange for
+the removal of the carriage, grasped his niece by the arm and led her,
+still protesting, into the house.
+
+The policeman saw the bundle of papers scattered over the roadway, and,
+near them, the partly-eaten bun. After a wrench at his garments he
+produced a penny.
+
+"Here," he said to the boy. "Buy another bun and be off. It's a good
+job for you the young lady spoke up the way she did."
+
+"She merely told the truth. That man was a liar."
+
+Refusing the proffered penny, the boy turned on his heel. The policeman
+looked after him.
+
+"That's a queer kid," he thought. "Talked like a regular young gent. I
+wonder why he is selling papers. Poor lad! He lost a bob's worth at
+least, and small thanks he got for it."
+
+Passing out of the square by the first eastward street, Philip Anson,
+with his head erect and hands clinched in his pockets, strode onward at
+a rapid pace. The lightning was less frequent now, and the thunder was
+dying away in sullen rumblings. He was wet and hungry. Yet, although he
+had three halfpence, the remaining balance of the only sales effected
+that evening, he passed many shops where he could have bought food.
+
+In Piccadilly, where the cessation of the storm created a rush of
+traffic, he was nearly run over, by reason of his own carelessness, and
+received a slash from a whip, accompanied by a loud oath from an angry
+cabman. He shivered, but never even looked around. Crossing Trafalgar
+Square, he plunged through the vortex of vehicles without troubling to
+avoid them in the slightest degree. Once the hot breath of a pair of van
+horses touched his cheek while a speechless driver pulled them back onto
+their haunches. Again, the off-wheel of an omnibus actually grazed his
+heel as he sped behind the statue of Charles the First.
+
+At last he reached the comparative seclusion of the Embankment, and
+stood for a moment to gaze fixedly at the swirling, glinting river.
+
+"Not here," he muttered, aloud. "I must be nearer to mother--dear old
+mother! She is there, waiting for me."
+
+He trudged steadily away, through Queen Victoria Street, Cornhill,
+Leadenhall Street, and so on to Johnson's Mews, in the Mile End Road.
+Pausing at a marine store dealer's shop, kept by an army pensioner, an
+Irishman, with whom he had a slight acquaintance, he entered. An elderly
+man was laboriously reading a paper of the preceding day's date.
+
+"Good-evening, Mr. O'Brien," he said. "Can you oblige me with a piece of
+rope? I want a strong piece, about three or four yards in length. I can
+only spare three halfpence."
+
+"Faix, I dunno. They use nails on the crates mostly nowadays. If I have
+a bit it's at yer sarvice. I wouldn't be afther chargin' the likes o'
+you."
+
+Philip's story was known in that humble locality, and the old soldier
+sympathized with the boy. "He has rale spunk an' no mistake," was his
+verdict when others said Philip was proud and overbearing. O'Brien moved
+rheumatically about the squalid shop. At last he found some portion of a
+clothesline.
+
+"Will that do?" he inquired.
+
+Philip tested it with vigorous pulling against his knee.
+
+"Excellently," he said. "Let me pay you for it."
+
+"Arrah, go away wid ye. And, be the powers, isn't the poor lad cowld an'
+famished. Luke here, now. In five minutes I'm goin' to have a cup o'
+tay----"
+
+"I am awfully obliged to you, but I could not touch a morsel. I am in a
+hurry."
+
+"Are ye goin' a journey? Have ye got a job?"
+
+"I think so. It looks like a permanency. Good-by."
+
+"Good-by, an' good luck to ye. Sure the boy looks mighty quare. 'Tis
+grief for his mother has turned his head entirely."
+
+No words could more clearly express Philip's condition than this
+friendly summing up. Since his mother's burial he had been half
+demented. His curt, disconnected answers had lost him two places as an
+errand boy, which he could easily have secured. His small stock of
+money, ridiculously depleted by the generosity with which he met the
+open hints of the undertaker's assistants, barely sufficed to keep him
+in food for a week. Then he sought employment, but with such stiff upper
+lip and haughty indifference to success that he unknowingly turned those
+against him who would have assisted him.
+
+For two days he was chosen to act as van boy for a parcel delivery firm.
+He earned a few meals, but in a fit of aberration induced by the sight
+of a lady who was dressed in a costume similar to one he remembered his
+mother wearing at Dieppe, he allowed a ham to be stolen from the rear of
+the van. This procured his instant dismissal, with threats. Then he sold
+newspapers, only to find that every good site was jealously guarded by a
+gang of roughs who mercilessly bullied any newcomer. Personal strength
+and courage were unavailing against sheer numbers. His face was still
+swollen and his ribs sore as the result of being knocked down and kicked
+at Ludgate Circus; at Charing Cross next day he was hustled under the
+wheels of an omnibus and narrowly escaped death. So he was driven into
+the side streets and the quiet squares, in which, during three or four
+days, he managed to earn an average of eightpence daily, which he spent
+on food.
+
+Each night he crept back to the poor tenement in Johnson's Mews, his
+bleak "home" amidst the solitude of empty stables and warehouses. The
+keeper of a coffee stall, touched one night by his woe-begone
+appearance, gave him some half-dried coffee grounds in a paper, together
+with a handful of crusts.
+
+"Put 'arf that in a pint of water," he said, looking critically at the
+soddened mess of coffee, "an' when it comes to a bile let it settle.
+It'll surprise you to find 'ow grateful an' comfortin' it tastes on a
+cold night. As for the crusts, if you bake 'em over the fire, they're
+just as good as the rusks you buy in tins."
+
+This good Samaritan had repeated his gift on two occasions, and Philip
+had a fairly large supply of small coal, sent to his mother by the
+colliery company, so his position, desperate enough, was yet bearable
+had he but sought to accustom himself to the new conditions of life.
+There was a chance that his wild broodings would have yielded to the
+necessity to earn a living, and that when next a situation was offered
+to him he would keep it, but the occurrences of this stormy night had
+utterly shaken him for the hour. He was on the verge of lunacy.
+
+As he passed through the dark archway leading to his abode, the desolate
+stable yard was fitfully lit by lightning, and in the distance he heard
+the faint rumble of thunder. The elemental strife was beginning again.
+This was the second and more disastrous outbreak of the evening of March
+19th.
+
+Although wet to the skin he was warm now on account of his long and
+rapid walk. When he unlocked the door another flash of lightning
+revealed the dismal interior. He closed and locked the door behind him.
+On the mantelpiece were a farthing candle and some matches. He groped
+for them and soon had a light. On other occasions his next task was to
+light a fire. By sheer force of habit he gathered together some sticks
+and bits of paper and arranged them in the grate. But the task was
+irksome to him. It was absurd to seek any degree of comfort for the few
+minutes he had to live. Better end it at once. Moreover, the storm was
+sweeping up over the East End with such marvelous speed that the
+lightning now played through the tiny room with dazzling brilliancy, and
+the wretched candle burned with blue and ghostlike feebleness. The cold
+of the house, too, began to strike chilly. He was so exhausted from
+hunger that if he did not eat soon he would not have the strength left
+to carry out his dread purpose.
+
+He sprang erect with a mocking little laugh, picked up the candle and
+the piece of rope, and climbed the stairs. He paused irresolutely at the
+top, but, yielding to overwhelming desire, went on and stood at the side
+of the bed on which his mother had died. He fancied he could see her
+lying there still, with a smile on her wan face and unspoken words of
+welcome on her lips.
+
+A flood of tears came and he trembled violently.
+
+"I am coming to you, mother," he murmured. "You told me to trust in God,
+but I think God has forgotten me. I don't want to live. I want to join
+you, and then, perhaps, God will remember me."
+
+He stooped and kissed the pillow, nestling his face against it, as he
+was wont to fondle the dear face that rested there so many weary days.
+Then he resolutely turned away, descended four steps of the ladder-like
+stairs, and tied the clothesline firmly to a hook which had been driven
+into the ceiling during the harness-room period of the room beneath.
+With equal deliberation he knotted the other end of the cord round his
+neck, and he calculated that by springing from the stairs he would
+receive sufficient shock to become insensible very quickly, while his
+feet would dangle several inches above the floor.
+
+There was a terrible coolness, a settled fixity of purpose far beyond
+his years, in the manner of these final preparations. At last they were
+completed. He blew out the candle and stood erect.
+
+At that instant the room became absolutely flooded with lightning, not
+in a single vivid flash, but in a trembling, continuous glare, that
+suggested the effect of some luminous constellation, fierce with
+electric energy. Before his eyes was exhibited a startling panorama of
+the familiar objects of his lonely abode. The brightness, so sustained
+and tremulous, startled him back from the very brink of death.
+
+"I will wait," he said. "When the thunder comes, then I will jump."
+
+Even as the thought formed in his mind, a ball of fire--so glowing, so
+iridescent in its flaming heat that it dominated the electric waves
+fluttering in the over-burdened air--darted past the little window that
+looked out over the tiny yard in the rear of the house, and crashed
+through the flagstones with the din of a ten-inch shell.
+
+Philip, elevated on the stairway, distinctly saw the molten splash which
+accompanied its impact. He saw the heavy stones riven asunder as if
+they were tissue paper, and, from the hole caused by the thunderbolt, or
+meteor, came a radiance that sent a spreading shaft of light upward like
+the beam of a searchlight. The warmth, too, of the object was almost
+overpowering. Were not the surrounding walls constructed of stone and
+brick there must have been an immediate outbreak of fire. As it was, the
+glass in the windows cracked, and the woodwork began to scorch. In the
+same instant a dreadful roll of thunder swept over the locality, and a
+deluge of rain, without any further warning, descended.
+
+All this seemed to the wondering boy to be a very long time in passing.
+In reality it occupied but a very few seconds. People in the distant
+street could not distinguish the crash of the fallen meteor from the
+accompanying thunder, and the downpour of rain came in the very nick of
+time to prevent the wood in the house and the neighboring factories from
+blazing forth into a disastrous fire.
+
+The torrent of water caused a dense volume of steam to generate in the
+back yard, and this helped to minimize the strange light shooting up
+from the cavity. There was a mad hissing and crackling as the rain
+poured over the meteor and gradually dulled its brightness. Pandemonium
+raged in that curiously secluded nook.
+
+Amazed and cowed--not by the natural phenomenon he had witnessed, but by
+the interpretation he placed on it--the boy unfastened the rope from his
+neck.
+
+"Very well, mother," he whispered, aloud. "If it is your wish I will
+live. I suppose that God speaks in this way."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+_What the Meteor Contained._
+
+
+Philip descended the stairs. He was almost choking now from another
+cause than strangulation. The steam pouring in through the fractured
+window panes was stifling. He took off his coat, first removing from an
+inner pocket the bundle of letters found under Mrs. Anson's pillow, and
+carefully stuffed the worn garment into the largest cavities. By this
+means he succeeded somewhat in shutting out the vapor as well as the
+lurid light that still flared red in the back yard.
+
+The lightning had ceased totally, and the improvised blind plunged the
+room into impenetrable darkness. He felt his way to the stairs and found
+the candle, which he relighted. The rain beating on the roofs and on the
+outer pavements combined with the weird sounds in the inclosed yard to
+make a terrifying racket, but it was not likely that a youth who
+attributed his escape from a loathsome death, self-inflicted, to the
+direct interposition of Providence in his behalf, would yield to any
+sentimental fears on that account. Indeed, although quite weak from
+hunger, he felt an unaccountable elation of spirits, a new-born desire
+to live and justify his mother's confidence in him, a sense of power to
+achieve that which hitherto seemed impossible.
+
+He even broke into a desultory whistling as he bent over the hearth and
+resumed the laying of the fire abandoned five minutes earlier with such
+sudden soul-weariness. The candle, too, burned with cheery glimmer, as
+if pleased with the disappearance of its formidable competitor.
+Fortunately he had some coal in the house--his chief supply was stored
+in a small bin at the other side of the yard, beyond the burial place of
+the raging, steaming meteor, and consequently quite unapproachable.
+
+Soon the fire burned merrily, and the coffee-stall keeper's recipe for
+using coffee grounds was put into practice. Philip had neither sugar nor
+milk, but the hot liquid smelled well, and he was now so cold and stiff,
+and he had such an empty sensation where he might have worn a belt, that
+some crusts of bread, softened by immersion in the dark compound, earned
+keener appreciation than was ever given in later days to the most costly
+dishes of famous restaurants yet unbuilt.
+
+After he had eaten, he dried his damp garments and changed his soaked
+boots for a pair so worn that they scarcely held together. But their
+dryness was comforting. An odd feeling of contentment, largely induced
+by the grateful heat of the fire, rendered his actions leisurely. Quite
+half an hour elapsed before he thought of peeping through the back
+window to ascertain the progress of external events. The rain was not
+now pelting down with abnormal fury. It was still falling, but with the
+quiet persistence that marks--in London parlance--"a genuine wet day."
+The steam had almost vanished. When he removed his coat from the broken
+panes he saw with surprise that the flagstones in the yard were dry
+within a circle of two feet around the hole made by the meteor. Such
+drops as fell within that area were instantly obliterated, and tiny jets
+of vapor from the hole itself betrayed the presence of the fiery object
+beneath. His boyish curiosity being thoroughly aroused, he drew an old
+sack over his head and shoulders, unlocked a door which led into the
+yard from a tiny scullery, and cautiously approached the place where the
+meteor had plowed its way into the ground. The stones were littered with
+débris, but the velocity of the heavy mass had been so great that a
+comparatively clean cut was made through the pavement. The air was warm,
+with the hot breath of an oven, and it was as much as Philip could bear
+when he stood on the brink of the hole and peeped in. At a good depth,
+nearly half his own height he estimated, he saw a round ball firmly
+imbedded in the earth. It was dully red, with its surface all cracks and
+fissures as the result of the water poured onto it. Much larger than a
+football, it seemed to him, at first sight, to be the angry eye of some
+colossal demon glaring up at him from a dark socket. But the boy was
+absolutely a stranger to fear. He procured the handle of a mop and
+prodded the meteor with it. The surface felt hard and brittle. Large
+sections broke away, though they did not crumble, and he received a
+sharp reminder of the potency of the heat still stored below when the
+wood burst into sudden flame.
+
+This ended his investigations for the night. He used the sacking to
+block up the window, replenished the fire, set his coat to dry, and
+dragged his mattress from the bedroom to the front of the fire. The
+warmth within and without the house had made him intolerably drowsy, and
+he fell asleep while murmuring his prayers, a practice abandoned since
+the hour of his mother's death.
+
+In reality, Philip was undergoing a novel sort of Turkish bath, and the
+perspiration induced thereby probably saved him from a dangerous cold.
+He slept long and soundly. There was no need to attend to the fire. Long
+ere the coal in the grate was exhausted, the presence of the meteor had
+penetrated the surrounding earth, and the house was far above its normal
+temperature when he awoke.
+
+The sun had risen in a cloudless sky. A lovely spring morning had
+succeeded a night of gloom and disaster, and the first sound that
+greeted his wondering ears was the twittering of the busy sparrows on
+the housetops. Of course he owned neither clock nor watch. These
+articles, with many others, were represented by a bundle of pawn tickets
+stuffed into one of the envelopes of his mother's packet of letters. But
+the experience of even a few weeks had taught him roughly how to
+estimate time by the sun, and he guessed the hour to be eight o'clock,
+or thereabouts.
+
+His first thought was of the meteor. His toilet was that of primeval
+man, being a mere matter of rising and stretching his stiff limbs. While
+lacing his boots he noticed that the floor was littered with tiny white
+specks, the largest of which was not bigger than a grain of bird seed.
+These were the particles which shot through the broken window during the
+previous night. He picked up a few and examined them. They were hard,
+angular, cold to the touch, and a dull white in color.
+
+On entering the yard he saw hundreds of these queer little rough
+pebbles, many of them as large as peas, some the size of marbles and a
+few bigger ones. They had evidently flown on all sides, but,
+encountering lofty walls, save where they forced a way through the thin
+glass of the window, had fallen back to the ground. Interspersed with
+them he found pieces of broken stone and jagged lumps of material that
+looked and felt like iron.
+
+By this time the meteor itself had cooled sufficiently to reveal the
+nature of its outer crust. It appeared to be an amalgam of the dark
+ironlike mineral and the white pebbles. Through one deep fissure he
+could still see the fiery heart of the thing, and he imagined that when
+the internal heat had quite exhausted itself the great ball would easily
+break into pieces, for it was rent in all directions.
+
+His first exclamation was one of thankfulness.
+
+"I am jolly glad that thing didn't fall on my head," he said aloud,
+forgetting that had its advent been delayed a second or two, the precise
+locality selected for its impact would not have mattered much to him.
+
+"I wonder what it is," he went on. "Is it worth anything? Perhaps if I
+dig it out, I may be able to sell it as a curiosity."
+
+A moment's reflection told him, however, that he would not be able to
+disinter it that day, even if he possessed the requisite implements. On
+its lower side it was probably still red-hot. Through the soles of his
+boots, broken as they were, he could easily feel the heat of the ground,
+so the experiment must be deferred for twenty-four hours, perhaps
+longer. At any rate, he was sure that his mysterious visitor represented
+a realizable asset, and the knowledge gave him a sudden distaste for
+coffee grounds and stale crusts. He resolved to spend his remaining
+three halfpence on a breakfast, and at the same time, make some guarded
+inquiries as to the nature and possible cash value of the meteor
+itself. Evidently, its fall had attracted no public attention. The fury
+of the elements and the subsequent heavy rain were effectual safeguards
+in this respect, and Johnson's Mews, marked out for demolition a
+fortnight later, were practically deserted now day and night. Philip did
+not then know that London had already much to talk about in the recorded
+incidents of the two storms. The morning newspapers were hysterical with
+headlines announcing fires, collapse of buildings, street accidents, and
+lamentable loss of life in all parts of the metropolis. As the day wore,
+and full details came to hand, the list of mishaps would be doubled,
+while scientific observers would begin a nine days' wrangle in the
+effort to determine the precise reason why the electrical disturbance
+should have been wholly confined to the metropolitan area. Philip Anson,
+a ragged boy of fifteen, residing in a desolate nook of the most
+disheveled district in the East End, possessed the very genesis of the
+mystery, yet the web of fate was destined to weave a spell that would
+deftly close his lips.
+
+Meanwhile he wanted his breakfast. He gathered thirty fair-sized, white
+pebbles and a few jagged lumps of the ironlike material. These he
+wrapped in a piece of newspaper, screwed up the small package tightly,
+and placed it in his trousers' pocket. Thinking deeply about the awesome
+incidents of the previous night, he donned his coat and did not notice
+the packet of letters lying in the chair. Never before had these
+documents left his possession. The door was locked and the key in his
+pocket before he missed them. It was in his mind to turn back. In
+another second he would have obeyed the impulse, had not a mighty gust
+of wind swept through the yard and carried his tattered cap into the
+passage. That settled it. Philip ran after his headgear, and so was
+blown into a strange sea of events.
+
+"They are quite safe there," he thought. "In any case, it will be best
+not to carry them about in future. They get so frayed, and some day I
+may want them."
+
+Emerging from the haven of the mews, he found the untidy life of the
+Mile End Road eddying in restless confusion through a gale. The gaunt,
+high walls surrounding his secluded dwelling had sheltered him from the
+blustering, March wind that was now drying the streets and creating much
+ill-temper in the hearts of carters, stall owners and girls with large
+hats and full skirts. In a word, everything that could be flapped or
+shaken, or rudely swept anywhere out of its rightful place, was dealt
+with accordingly. In one instance a heavy tarpaulin was lifted clean off
+a wagon and neatly lodged over the heads of the driver and horses of a
+passing omnibus. They were not extricated from its close embrace without
+some difficulty and a great quantity of severe yet cogent remarks by the
+wagoner and the driver, assisted by the 'bus conductor and various
+passengers.
+
+Philip laughed heartily, for the first time since his mother's death. He
+waited until the driver and the wagoner had exchanged their farewell
+compliments. Then he made off briskly toward an establishment where
+three halfpence would purchase a cup of coffee and a bun.
+
+In ten minutes he felt much refreshed, and his busy mind reverted to the
+mysterious package he carried. Thinking it best to seek the counsel of
+an older head, he went to O'Brien's shop. The old man was taking down
+the shutters, and found the task none too easy. Without a word, Philip
+helped him, and soon the pensioner was wiping his spectacles in the
+shelter of the shop.
+
+"I dunno what the weather is comin' to at all at all," he grumbled.
+"Last night was like the takin' uv the Redan, an' this mornin' reminds
+me uv crossin' the Bay o' Biscay."
+
+"It certainly was a fearful thunderstorm," said Philip.
+
+"Faix, boy, that's a thrue word. It was just like ould times in the
+hills in Injia, where the divil himself holds coort some nights. But
+what's the matter? Didn't you get that job?"
+
+Philip laughed again. "I am not sure yet," he replied. "I really came in
+to ask you what this is."
+
+With his hand in his pocket, he had untwisted the paper and taken out
+the white pebbles, which he now handed to O'Brien.
+
+The old man took it, smelt it and adjusted his glasses for a critical
+examination.
+
+"It ain't alum," he announced.
+
+"No. I think not."
+
+"An' it ain't glass."
+
+"Probably not."
+
+"Where did yer get it?"
+
+"I found it lying on the pavement."
+
+O'Brien scratched his head. "'Tis a quare-looking objec', anyhow. What
+good is it?"
+
+"I cannot tell you. I thought that possibly it might have some value."
+
+"What! A scrap of white shtone like that. Arrah, what's come over ye?"
+
+"There is no harm in asking, is there? Some one should be able to tell
+me what it is made of."
+
+Philip, from his small store of physical geography, knew that meteors
+were articles of sufficient rarity to attract attention. And he was
+tenacious withal.
+
+"I suppose that a jeweler would be the best man to judge. He must
+understand about stones," he went on.
+
+"Maybe; but I don't see what's the use. 'Tis a sheer waste of time. But
+if y're set on findin' out, go to a big man. These German Jews round
+about here are omadhauns. They don't know a watch from a clock, an' if
+they did they'd chate ye."
+
+"I never thought of that, yet I ought to know by this time. Thank you; I
+will go into the city."
+
+He took the pebble, which he placed in his waistcoat pocket. Walking
+briskly, he traversed some part of the sorrowful journey of barely
+twelve hours earlier. What had happened to change his mood he did not
+know, and scarcely troubled to inquire. Last night he hurried through
+these streets in a frenzied quest for death. Now he strode along full of
+hope, joyous in the confidence of life and youth. His one dominant
+thought was that his mother had protected him, had snatched him from the
+dark gate of eternity. Oddly enough, he laid far more stress on his
+escape from the meteor than on the accident that prevented his
+contemplated suicide. This latter idea had vanished with the madness
+that induced it. Philip was sane again, morally and mentally. He was
+keenly anxious to justify his mother's trust in him. The blustering
+wind, annoying to most wayfarers, only aroused in him a spirit of
+resistance, of fortitude. He breasted it so manfully that when at last
+he paused at the door of a great jewelry establishment in Ludgate Hill,
+his face was flushed and his manner eager and animated.
+
+He opened the door, but was rudely brought back to a sense of his
+surroundings by the suspicious question of a shop-walker.
+
+"Now, boy, what do you want here?"
+
+The unconscious stress in the man's words was certainly borne out by the
+contrast between Philip, a social pariah in attire, and the wealth of
+gold and precious stones cut off from him by panes of thick glass and
+iron bars. What, indeed, did this outcast want there?
+
+Confused by the sudden demand, and no less by its complete obviousness,
+Philip flushed and stammered:
+
+"I--er--only wished to obtain some information, sir," he answered.
+
+Like all others, the shopman was amazed by the difference between the
+boy's manners and his appearance.
+
+"Information," he repeated, in his surprise. "What information can we
+give you?"
+
+The wealth of the firm oppressed this man. He could only speak in
+accents of adulation where the shop was concerned.
+
+Philip produced his white pebble.
+
+"What is this?" he said.
+
+The directness of the query again took his hearer aback. Without a word,
+he bent and examined the stone. Professional instinct mastered all other
+considerations.
+
+"You must apply to that department." He majestically waved his hand
+toward a side counter. Philip obeyed silently, and approached a small,
+elderly personage, a man with clever, kindly eyes, who was submitting to
+microscopical examination a number of tiny stones spread out on a
+chamois leather folding case. He quietly removed the case when his
+glance rested on the boy.
+
+"Well?" he said, blankly, wondering why on earth the skilled shop-walker
+had sent such a disreputable urchin to him. Philip was now quite
+collected in his wits. He held out the pebble, with a more detailed
+statement.
+
+"I found this," he said. "I thought that it might be valuable, and a
+friend advised me to bring it here. Will you kindly tell me what it is?"
+
+The man behind the counter stared at him for a moment, but he reached
+over for the stone. Without a word he placed it beneath the microscope
+and gave it a very brief examination. Then he pressed it against his
+cheek.
+
+"Where did you get it?" he asked.
+
+"I found it where it had fallen on the pavement."
+
+"Are you sure?"
+
+"Quite sure."
+
+"Strange!" was the muttered comment, and Philip began to understand that
+his meteor possessed attributes hitherto unsuspected.
+
+"But what is it?" he inquired, after a pause.
+
+"A meteoric diamond."
+
+"A meteoric diamond?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Is it worth much?"
+
+"A great deal. Probably some hundreds of pounds."
+
+Philip felt his face growing pale. That dirty-white, small stone worth
+hundreds of pounds! Yet in his pocket he had twenty-nine other
+specimens, many of them much larger than the one chosen haphazard for
+inspection, and in the back yard of his tenement lay heaps of them,
+scattered about the pavement like hailstones after a shower, while the
+meteor itself was a compact mass of them. He became somewhat faint, and
+leaned against the glass case that surmounted the counter.
+
+"Is that really true?" was all he could say.
+
+The expert valuer of diamonds smiled. His first impulse was to send for
+the police, but he knew that meteoric diamonds did fall to earth
+occasionally, and he believed the boy's story. Moreover, the thing was
+such a rarity and of such value that the holder must be fully able to
+account for its possession before he could dispose of it. So his tone
+was not unkindly as he replied:
+
+"It is quite true, but if you want to ascertain its exact value you
+should go to a Hatton Garden merchant, and he, most probably, would make
+you a fair offer. It has to be cut and polished, you know, before it
+becomes salable, and I must warn you that most rigid inquiry will be
+made as to how it came into your hands."
+
+"It fell from heaven," was the wholly unexpected answer, for Philip was
+shaken and hardly master of his faculties.
+
+"Yes, yes, I know. Personally, I believe you, or you would be in custody
+at this moment. Take it to Messrs. Isaacstein & Co., Hatton Garden. Say
+I sent you--Mr. Wilson is my name--and make your best terms with Mr.
+Isaacstein. He will treat you quite fairly. But, again, be sure and tell
+the truth, as he will investigate your story fully before he is
+satisfied as to its accuracy."
+
+Philip, walking through dreamland, quitted the shop. He mingled with the
+jostling crowd and drifted into Farringdon Road.
+
+"A diamond--worth hundreds of pounds!" he repeated, mechanically. "Then
+what is the whole meteor worth, and what am I worth?"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+
+_Isaacstein._
+
+
+The keen, strong, March wind soon blew the clouds from his brain. He did
+not hurry toward Hatton Garden. He sauntered, rather, with his right
+hand clinched on the tiny parcel in his pocket, the parcel which had
+suddenly been endowed with such magic potentialities. It was the
+instinct to guard a treasure of great value that led to this involuntary
+action. He was preoccupied, disturbed, vaguely striving to grasp a
+vision that seemed to elude his exact comprehension.
+
+What did it all mean? Was it really possible that he, Philip Anson,
+orphaned, beggared, practically a starving tramp, should have the riches
+of Golconda showered upon him in this mad fashion. If the small stone he
+had shown to the jeweler were worth hundreds, then some of those in the
+paper were worth thousands, while as for the stone in the back yard of
+his house--well, imagination boggled at the effort to appraise it. The
+thought begot a sense of caution, of reserve, of well-reasoned
+determination not to reveal his secret to anybody. Perhaps it would be
+best not to take Messrs. Isaacstein & Co. wholly into his confidence. He
+would simply show them the stone he had exhibited to Mr. Wilson and take
+the best price they offered. Then, with the money in his possession, he
+could effect a much needed change in his appearance, visit them again,
+and gradually increase his supply of diamonds until he had obtained
+more money than he could possibly spend during many years.
+
+Above all else was it necessary that his meteor should be removed to a
+safer place than Johnson's Mews. Philip had no scruples about
+appropriating it. Lords of the Manor and Crown rights he had never heard
+of.
+
+His mother, watching his every action from some Elysian height, had sent
+the diamond-loaded messenger as a token of her love and care. It was
+his, and no man should rob him of it. It behooved him to be sparing of
+explanations and sturdy in defense of his property.
+
+A good deal depended on the forthcoming interview, and he wished he
+could convert a small fraction of the wealth in his pocket into a few
+honest pennies with the king's head on them. The excitement and exercise
+had made him hungry again. His breakfast was not of ample proportions,
+and his meals of yesterday had been of the scantiest. It would be well
+to face the diamond merchants with the easy confidence that springs from
+a satisfied appetite. Yet, how to manage it? He was sorry now he had not
+borrowed a sixpence from O'Brien. The old soldier would certainly have
+lent it to him. He even thought of returning to the Mile End Road to
+secure the loan, but he happened to remember that the day was Saturday,
+and it was probable that the Hatton Garden offices would close early. It
+was then nearly eleven o'clock, and he could not risk the delay of the
+long, double journey.
+
+At that instant a savory smell was wafted to him. He was passing a small
+restaurant, where sausages and onions sizzled gratefully in large, tin
+trays, and pork chops lay in inviting prodigality amid rich, brown
+gravy. The proprietor, a portly and greasy man, with bald head and side
+whiskers, was standing at the door exchanging views as to business with
+his next-door neighbor, a greengrocer. Philip, bold in the knowledge of
+his wealth, resolved to try what he could achieve on credit.
+
+He walked up to the pair.
+
+"I have not got any money just now," he said to the restaurant keeper,
+"but if you will let me have something to eat I will gladly come back
+this afternoon and pay you double."
+
+Neither man spoke at first. Philip was always unconscious of the quaint
+discrepancy between his style of speech and his attire. He used to
+resent bitterly the astonishment exhibited by strangers, but to-day he
+was far removed above these considerations, and he backed up his request
+by a pleasant smile.
+
+The fat man grew apoplectic and turned his eyes to the sky.
+
+"Well, I'm----" he spluttered.
+
+The greengrocer laughed, and Philip blushed.
+
+"Do you refuse?" he said, with his downright manner and direct stare.
+
+"Well, of all the cool cheek----" The stout person's feelings were too
+much for him. He could find no other words.
+
+"It is a fair offer," persisted the boy. "You don't think I mean to
+swindle you, surely?"
+
+"Well, there! I never did!"
+
+But the greengrocer intervened.
+
+"You're a sharp lad," he guffawed. "D'ye want a job?"
+
+"No," was the short reply. "I want something to eat."
+
+"Dash my buttons, an' you're a likely sort of kid to get it, too. In you
+go. I'll pay the bill. Lord lumme, it'll do me good to see you."
+
+"Mr. Judd, are you mad?" demanded his neighbor, whose breath had
+returned to him.
+
+"Not a bit of it. The bloomin' kid can't get through a bob's worth if he
+bursts himself. 'Ere, I'll bet you two bob 'e pays up."
+
+"Done! Walk in, sir. Wot'll you be pleased to 'ave, sir?"
+
+Philip's indignation at the restaurant keeper's sarcasm yielded to his
+wish to see him annihilated later in the day. Moreover, the sausages
+really smelt excellently, and he was now ravenous. He entered the shop,
+and gave his orders with a quiet dignity that astounded the proprietor
+and hugely delighted the greengrocer, who, in the intervals of business,
+kept peeping at him through the window. Philip ate steadily, and the
+bill amounted to ninepence, which his ally paid cheerfully.
+
+The boy held out his hand.
+
+"Thank you, Mr. Judd," he said, frankly. "I will return without fail. I
+will not insult you by offering more than the amount you have advanced
+for me, but some day I may be able to render you good service in
+repayment."
+
+Then he walked off toward the viaduct steps, and Mr. Judd looked after
+him.
+
+"Talks like a little gentleman, 'e does. If my little Jimmie 'ad lived
+'e would ha' bin just about his age. Lord lumme, I 'ope the lad turns
+up again, an' not for the sake of the bloomin' ninepence, neither.
+Tomatoes, mum? Yes'm. Fresh in this mornin'."
+
+After crossing Holborn Viaduct, Philip stood for a little while gazing
+into the showroom of a motor agency. It was not that he was interested
+in Panhard or De Dion cars--then but little known to the general public
+in England--but rather that he wished to rehearse carefully the program
+to be followed with Mr. Isaacstein. With a sagacity unlooked for in one
+of his years, he decided that the meteor should not be mentioned at all.
+Of course, the diamond merchant would instantly recognize the stone as a
+meteoric diamond, and would demand its earthly pedigree. Philip resolved
+to adhere to the simple statement that it was his own property, and that
+any reasonable inquiry might be made in all quarters where meteoric
+diamonds were obtainable as to whether or not such a stone was missing.
+Meanwhile he would obtain from Mr. Isaacstein a receipt acknowledging
+its custody and a small advance of money, far below its real worth,
+leaving the completion of the transaction until a later date. The
+question of giving or withholding his address if it were asked for was a
+difficult one to settle offhand. Perhaps the course of events would
+permit him to keep Johnson's Mews altogether out of the record, and a
+more reputable habitation would be provided once he had the requisite
+funds.
+
+Thinking he had successfully tackled all the problems that would demand
+solution, Philip wasted no more time. He entered Hatton Garden, and had
+not gone past many of its dingy houses until he saw a large, brass
+plate, bearing the legend: "Isaacstein & Co., Diamond Merchants,
+Kimberley, Amsterdam and London."
+
+He entered the office and was instantly confronted by a big-nosed youth,
+who surveyed him through a grille with an arched opening in it to admit
+letters and small parcels.
+
+"Is Mr. Isaacstein in?" said Philip.
+
+"Oah, yess," grinned the other.
+
+"Will you kindly tell him I wish to see him?"
+
+"Oah, yess." There was a joke lurking somewhere in the atmosphere, but
+the young Hebrew had not caught its drift yet. The gaunt and unkempt
+visitor was evidently burlesquing the accent of such gentle people as
+came to the office on business.
+
+Philip waited a few seconds. The boy behind the grille filled in the
+interval by copying an address into the stamp book.
+
+"Why do you not tell Mr. Isaacstein I am here?" he said at last.
+
+"Oah, yess. You vil be funny, eh?" The other smirked over the hidden
+humor of the situation, and Philip understood that if he would see the
+great man of the firm he must adopt a more emphatic tone.
+
+"I had better warn you that Mr. Wilson, of Messrs. Grant & Sons, Ludgate
+Hill, sent me here to see Mr. Isaacstein. Am I to go back to Mr. Wilson
+and say that the office boy refuses to admit me?"
+
+There was a sting in the description, coming from such a speaker.
+
+"Look 'ere," was the angry retort. "Go avay und blay, vil you? I'm
+pizzy."
+
+Then Philip reached quickly through the little arch, grabbed a handful
+of shirt, tie and waistcoat, and dragged the big nose and thick lips
+violently against the wires of the grille.
+
+"Will you do what I ask, or shall I try and pull you through?" he said,
+quietly.
+
+But the boy's ready yell brought two clerks running, and a door was
+thrown open. Phil released his opponent and instantly explained his
+action. One of the clerks, an elderly man, looked a little deeper than
+the boy's ragged garments, and the mention of Mr. Wilson's name procured
+him a hearing. Moreover, he had previous experience of the youthful
+janitor's methods.
+
+With a cuff on the ear, this injured personage was bidden to go upstairs
+and say that Mr. Wilson had sent a boy to see Mr. Isaacstein. The added
+insult came when he was compelled to usher Philip to a waiting room.
+
+Soon a clerk entered. He was visibly astonished by the appearance of Mr.
+Wilson's messenger, and so was Mr. Isaacstein, when Philip was paraded
+before him in a spacious apartment, filled with glass cases and tables,
+at which several assistants were seated.
+
+"What the deuce----" he began, but checked himself. "What does Mr.
+Wilson want?" he went on. Evidently his Ludgate Hill acquaintance was
+useful to Philip.
+
+"He wants nothing, sir," said Philip. "He sent me to you on a matter of
+business. It is of a private nature. Can you give me a few minutes
+alone?"
+
+Isaacstein was a big-headed, big-shouldered man, tapering to a small
+point at his feet. He looked absurdly like a top, and surprise or
+emotion of any sort caused him to sway gently. He swayed now, and every
+clerk looked up, expecting him to fall bodily onto the urchin with the
+refined utterance who had dared to penetrate into the potentate's office
+with such a request.
+
+Kimberley, Amsterdam and London combined to lend effect to Isaacstein's
+wit when he said:
+
+"Is this a joke?"
+
+All the clerks guffawed in chorus. Fortunately, Isaacstein was in a good
+humor. He had just purchased a pearl for two hundred and fifty pounds,
+which he would sell to Lady Somebody for eight hundred pounds, to match
+another in an earring.
+
+"It appears to be," said Philip, when the merriment had subsided.
+
+For some reason the boy's grave, earnest eyes conquered the big little
+man's amused scrutiny.
+
+"Now, boy, be quick. What is it?" he said, testily, and every clerk bent
+to his task.
+
+"I have told you, sir. I wish to have a few minutes' conversation with
+you with regard to business of an important nature."
+
+"You say Mr. Wilson sent you--Mr. Wilson, of Grant & Sons?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+Isaacstein yielded to amazed curiosity.
+
+"Step in here," he said, and led the way to his private office,
+surprising himself as well as his assistants by this concession.
+
+Philip closed the door, and Isaacstein turned sharply at the sound, but
+the boy gave him no time to frame a question.
+
+"I want you to buy this," he said, handing over the diamond.
+
+Isaacstein took it, and gave it one critical glance. He began to wobble
+again.
+
+"Do you mean to say Mr. Wilson sent you to dispose of this stone to me?"
+he demanded.
+
+"Not exactly, sir. I showed it to him, and he recommended me to come to
+you."
+
+"Ah, I see. Sit down, there----" indicating a chair near the door. The
+diamond merchant himself sat at his desk, but they were both in full
+view of each other.
+
+"Where did you get it?" he asked.
+
+"I found it."
+
+"Quite so. But where?"
+
+"At this moment I do not wish to go into details, but it is mine, mine
+only, and I am quite willing that you should make every inquiry to
+satisfy yourself that it was not stolen. I suppose that is what you
+fear?"
+
+Sheer wonder kept the Jew silent for a space.
+
+"Do you know its value?" he said, with a sudden snap.
+
+"Mr. Wilson told me it was worth several hundreds of pounds."
+
+"Did he, really?"
+
+"Yes. He said you would treat me quite fairly, so I wish you to advance
+me a few pounds until you have decided upon its real price. You see,
+sir, I am very poor, and my present appearance creates an unfavorable
+impression. Still, I am telling you the absolute truth, and I show my
+confidence in you and in my own case by offering to leave the diamond
+with you on your receipt, together with a small sum of money."
+
+Philip thought he was getting on very well. Isaacstein's large eyes
+bulged at him, and speech came but slowly. He leaned forward and
+rummaged among some papers. Then he opened a drawer and produced a
+magnifying glass, with which he focused the diamond.
+
+"Yes, it is worth six or seven hundred pounds," he announced, "but it
+will be some time before I can speak accurately as to its value. I think
+it may be flawless, but that can only be determined when it is cut."
+
+Philip's heart throbbed when he heard the estimate.
+
+"Then I can have a few pounds----" he commenced.
+
+"Steady. You are not in such a hurry; eh? You won't tell me where you
+got it?"
+
+"I may, later, if you continue to deal with me as honestly as you have
+done already."
+
+Isaacstein moved on his seat. Even in a chair he wanted to wobble. There
+was a slight pause.
+
+"Have you any more like this stone? I suppose not, eh?"
+
+"Yes, I have many more."
+
+"Eh? What? Boy, do you know what you are saying?"
+
+"No doubt you are surprised, sir, but not more than I am myself. Yet, it
+is true. I have some--as big again."
+
+Philip, in his eagerness, nearly forgot his resolution to advance
+slowly. How the diamond merchant would shake if only he could see some
+of the white pebbles in the meteor.
+
+"As big again! Where are they?"
+
+The chair was creaking now with the rhythmic swaying of its occupant.
+
+"Where this one came from, Mr. Isaacstein."
+
+Philip smiled. He could not tell how it happened, but he felt that he
+was the intellectual superior of the man who sat there glowering at him
+so intently. Already the boy began to grasp dimly the reality of the
+power which enormous wealth would give him. Such people as the Jew and
+his satellites would be mere automata in the affairs of his life,
+important enough in a sense, with the importance of a stamp for a letter
+or a railway ticket for a journey, but governed and controlled utterly
+by the greater personage who could unlock the door of the treasure
+house. For the first time, Philip wished he was older, bigger, more
+experienced. He even found himself beginning to wonder what he should do
+until he reached man's estate. He sighed.
+
+Isaacstein was watching him closely, trying to solve the puzzle by the
+aid of each trick and dodge known in a trade which lends itself to acute
+roguery of every description. The look of unconscious anxiety, of mental
+weariness, on Philip's face, seemed to clear away his doubts. He
+chuckled thickly.
+
+"How many, now," he murmured. "Ten, twenty--of assorted sizes, eh?"
+
+"Far more! Far more! Be content with what I tell you to-day, Mr.
+Isaacstein. I said my business was important. When you are better
+acquainted with me, I think you will find it sufficiently valuable to
+occupy the whole of your time."
+
+Philip was ever on the verge of bursting out into confidences. His
+secret was too vast, too overpowering for a boy of fifteen. He wanted
+the knowledge and the trust of an older man. He did not realize that the
+Jew, beginning by regarding him as a thief, was now veering round to the
+opinion that he was a lunatic. For it is known to most men that the
+values of diamonds increase out of all proportion to their weight.
+While a one-carat stone is worth, roughly speaking, ten pounds, a
+twenty-carat gem of the same purity is worth any sum beyond two thousand
+pounds, and the diamond Philip had submitted for inspection would
+probably cut into ten or twelve carats of fine luster. To speak,
+therefore, of an abundance of larger and finer stones, was a simple
+absurdity. The De Beers Company alone could use such a figure of speech,
+and even then only at isolated dates in its history.
+
+The boy, with his eyes steadfastly fixed on the Jew's face and yet with
+a distant expression in them that paid slight heed to the waves of
+emotion exhibited by the heavy cheeks and pursed-up mouth, awaited some
+final utterance on the part of his questioner. Surely he had said
+sufficient to make this man keenly alive to the commercial value of the
+"business" he offered. Under the conditions, Isaacstein could not refuse
+to give him sufficient money to meet his immediate wants.
+
+The Jew, seemingly at a loss for words, bent again over the stone. He
+was scrutinizing it closely when a heavy tread crossed the outer
+showroom and the door was flung open.
+
+A policeman entered, and Isaacstein bounced out of his chair.
+
+"I have sent for you, constable, to take this boy into custody," he
+cried, excitedly. "He came here ten minutes ago and offered for sale a
+very valuable diamond, so rare, and worth so much, that he must have
+stolen it."
+
+Philip, too, sprang up.
+
+"It is a lie!" he shouted. "How dare you say such a thing when I have
+told you that it is mine!"
+
+The policeman collared him by the shoulder.
+
+"Steady, my young spark," he said. "Mr. Isaacstein knows what he is
+about, and I don't suppose he is very far wrong this time. Do you know
+the boy, sir?" he went on.
+
+Isaacstein gave a voluble and accurate summary of Philip's statements.
+Each moment the policeman's grip became firmer. Evidently the boy was
+the mere agent of a gang of thieves, though it was beyond comprehension
+that anyone short of an idiot should choose an emissary with broken
+boots and ragged clothing in order to effect a deal with the leading
+house in Hatton Garden.
+
+Philip listened to the recital in dumb agony. His face was deathly pale,
+and his eyes glowed with the rage and shame that filled his soul. So the
+Jew had been playing with him, merely fooling him until some secret
+signal by an electric bell had sent a messenger flying for the police.
+His dream of wealth would end in the jail, his fairy oasis would be a
+felon's cell. Very well, be it so. If he could help it, not all the
+policemen in London should rend his secret from him. With a sudden glow
+of fiery satisfaction, he remembered that his clothing contained no clew
+to his address, and he had not given his name either at Ludgate Hill or
+Hatton Garden. How long could they keep him a prisoner? Would others
+find his meteor and rob him of his mother's gift? In less than a
+fortnight men would come to tear down the buildings in Johnson's Mews.
+Well, it mattered not. The courage of despair which nerved him the
+previous night came to his aid again. He would defy them all, careless
+of consequence.
+
+The policeman was saying:
+
+"It's a queer affair, sir. Did he really say he had lots more of 'em?"
+
+"Yes, yes! Do you think I am romancing? Perhaps they are in his
+possession now."
+
+"Have you any more of these stones, boy?"
+
+Philip, with lips tensely set, was desperately cool again. He moved his
+arm, and the constable's grasp tightened.
+
+"You are hurting me," said the boy. "I merely wish to put my hand in my
+pocket. Are you afraid of me, that you hold me so fast?"
+
+The policeman, like the rest, did not fail to notice Philip's diction.
+The scornful superiority of his words, the challenge of the final
+question, took him aback. He relaxed his grip and grinned confusedly.
+
+Philip instantly produced his paper of diamonds and opened it widely, so
+that all the stones could be seen. He handed the parcel to the
+policeman.
+
+"Take good care of them, constable," he said. "Judging from results,
+they would not be safe in that man's hands."
+
+But Isaacstein did not hear the insult. When he saw the collection he
+nearly lost his senses. What had he done? Was he or the boy mad? Veins
+stood out on his forehead, and he wobbled so fearfully that he clutched
+the desk for support. A scarecrow of a boy wandering about London with
+thousands of pounds' worth of diamonds in his pocket, wrapped up in a
+piece of newspaper like so many sweets! There were not any meteoric
+diamonds of such value in all the museums and private collections in the
+world. He began to perspire. Even the policeman was astounded, quite as
+much at being called "constable" by Philip as by the mean appearance of
+articles presumably of great value.
+
+"This is a rum go. What do you make of it, Mr. Isaacstein?" he said.
+
+The query restored the Jew's wits. After all, here was the law speaking.
+It would have been the wildest folly for a man of his position to dabble
+in this mysterious transaction.
+
+With a great effort he forced himself to speak.
+
+"Lock him up instantly. This matter must be fully inquired into. And do
+be careful of that parcel, constable. Where do you take him? To the
+Bridewell station? I will follow you in a cab in five minutes."
+
+So Philip, handcuffed, was marched down the stairs past the gratified
+office boy and out into the street.
+
+As for Isaacstein, he required brandy, and not a little, before he felt
+able to follow.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V.
+
+_Perplexing a Magistrate._
+
+
+In after years Philip never forgot the shame of that march through the
+staring streets. The everlasting idlers of London's busiest
+thoroughfares gathered around the policeman and his prisoner with
+grinning callousness.
+
+"Wot's 'e bin a-doin' of?"
+
+"Nicked a lydy's purse, eh?"
+
+"Naw! Bin ticklin' the till, more like."
+
+"Bli-me, don't 'e look sick!"
+
+They ran and buzzed around him like wasps, stinging most bitterly with
+coarse words and coarser laughter. An omnibus slowed its pace to let
+them cross the road, and Philip knew that the people on top craned their
+necks to have a good look at him. When nearing the viaduct steps, the
+policeman growled something at the pursuing crowd. Another constable
+strode rapidly to the entrance and cut off the loafers, sternly advising
+them to find some other destination. But the respite was a brief one.
+The pair reached Farringdon Street, and had barely attracted attention
+before they passed the restaurant where Philip had lunched. The hour was
+yet early for mid-day customers, and the bald-headed proprietor saw them
+coming. He rushed out. The greengrocer, too, turned from his wares and
+joined in the exclamations of his friend at this speedy _dénouement_ of
+the trivial incident of twenty minutes earlier.
+
+The restaurant keeper was made jubilant by this dramatic vindication of
+the accuracy of his judgment.
+
+"The thievin' young scamp!" he ejaculated. "That's right, Mr. Policeman.
+Lock 'im up. 'E's a reg'lar wrong 'un."
+
+The constable stopped. "Hello!" he said. "Do you know him?"
+
+"I should think I did. 'E kem 'ere just now an' obtained a good blowout
+on false pretencies, an'----"
+
+"Old 'ard," put in the greengrocer, "that's not quite the ticket. 'E
+asked you to trust 'im, but you wouldn't."
+
+The stout man gurgled.
+
+"Not me. I know 'is sort. But 'e 'ad you a fair treat, Billy."
+
+"Mebbe, an' mebbe not. Ennyhow, two bob won't break me, an' I'm sorry
+for the kid. Wot's 'e done, Mr. Policeman?" Mr. Judd was nettled, yet
+unwilling to acknowledge he was wholly wrong.
+
+"Stole a heap of diamonds. Do either of you know him?"
+
+"Never saw him afore this mornin'."
+
+"Never bin in my 'ouse before."
+
+"Then come along," and Philip was tugged onward, but not before he found
+courage to say:
+
+"Thank you once more, Mr. Judd. I will keep my word, never fear."
+
+"What are you thanking him for?" said the constable.
+
+"For believing in me," was the curt answer.
+
+The policeman tried to extract some meaning from the words, but failed.
+He privately admitted that it was an extraordinary affair. How came a
+boy who spoke like a gentleman and was dressed like a street Arab to be
+wandering about London with a pocketful of diamonds and admitted to the
+private office of the chief diamond merchant in Hatton Garden? He gave
+it up, but silently thanked the stars which connected him with an
+important case.
+
+At last Philip's Via Dolorosa ended in the Bridewell police station. He
+was paraded before the inspector in charge, a functionary who would not
+have exhibited any surprise had the German Emperor been brought before
+him charged with shoplifting.
+
+He opened a huge ledger, tried if his pen would make a hair stroke on a
+piece of paper, and said, laconically:
+
+"Name?"
+
+No answer from the prisoner, followed by emphatic demands from inspector
+and constable, the former volunteering the information that to refuse
+your name and address was in itself an offense against the law.
+
+Philip's _sang-froid_ was coming to his aid. The horror of his passage
+through the gaping mob had cauterized all other sentiments, and he now
+saw that if he would preserve his incognito he must adopt a ruse.
+
+"Philip Morland," he said, doggedly, when the inspector asked him his
+name for the last time before recording a definite refusal.
+
+"Philip Morland!" It sounded curiously familiar in his ears. His mother
+was a Miss Morland prior to her marriage, but he had not noticed the odd
+coincidence that he should have been christened after the "Sir Philip"
+of the packet of letters so fortunately left behind that morning.
+
+"Address?"
+
+"Park Lane."
+
+The inspector began to write before the absurdity of the reply dawned on
+him. He stopped.
+
+"Is your mother a caretaker there, or your father employed in a mews?"
+
+"My father and mother are dead."
+
+"Then will you kindly inform us what number in Park Lane you live at?"
+
+"I have not determined that as yet. I intend to buy a house there."
+
+Some constables lounging about the office laughed, and the inspector,
+incensed out of his routine habits, shouted, angrily:
+
+"This is no place for joking, boy. Answer me properly, or it will be
+worse for you."
+
+"I have answered you quite properly. The constable who brought me here
+has in his possession diamonds worth many thousands of pounds belonging
+to me. I own a hundred times as many. Surely I can buy a house in Park
+Lane if I like."
+
+The inspector was staggered by this well-bred insolence. He was
+searching for some crushing legal threat that would frighten the boy
+into a state of due humility when Mr. Isaacstein entered.
+
+The Hatton Garden magnate again related the circumstances attending
+Philip's arrest, and the inspector promptly asked:
+
+"What charge shall I enter? You gave him into custody. Do you think he
+has stolen the diamonds?"
+
+Isaacstein had been thinking hard during a short cab drive. His reply
+was unexpectedly frank.
+
+"He could not have stolen what never existed. There is no such known
+collection of meteoric diamonds in the world."
+
+"But there must be, because they are here."
+
+By this time the parcel of dirty-white stones was lying open on the
+counter, and both Jew and policeman were gazing at them intently. There
+was a nettling logic in the inspector's retort.
+
+"I cannot answer riddles," said Isaacstein, shortly. "I can only state
+the facts. If any other man in the city of London is a higher authority
+on diamonds than I, go to him and ask his opinion."
+
+"Mr. Isaacstein is right," interposed Philip. "No one else owns diamonds
+like mine. No one else can obtain them. I have robbed no man. Give me my
+diamonds and let me go."
+
+The inspector laughed officially. He gazed intently at Philip, and then
+sought illumination from the Jew's perturbed countenance, but Isaacstein
+was moodily examining the contents of the paper and turning over both
+the stones and the scraps of iron with an air of profound mystification.
+
+"I'll tell you what," said the inspector, jubilantly, after a slight
+pause. "We will charge him with being in unlawful possession of certain
+diamonds, supposed to have been stolen. He has given me a false name and
+a silly address. Park Lane, the young imp said he lived in."
+
+"A man in your position ought to be more accurate," interposed Philip.
+"I did not say I lived in Park Lane. I told you I intended to buy a
+house there."
+
+Seldom, indeed, were the minor deities of the police station bearded in
+this fashion, and by a callow youth. But the inspector was making the
+copperplate hair strokes which had gained him promotion, and his brain
+had gone back to its normal dullness.
+
+"I will just see if we cannot bring him before a magistrate at once," he
+said, addressing Mr. Isaacstein. "Can you make it convenient to attend
+the court within an hour, sir? Then we will get a week's remand, and we
+will soon find out----"
+
+"A week's remand!" Philip became white again, and those large eyes of
+his began to burn. "What have I done----"
+
+"Silence! Search him carefully and take him to the cells."
+
+The boy turned despairingly to the Jew.
+
+"Mr. Isaacstein," he said, with a pitiful break in his voice, "why do
+you let them do this thing? You are a rich man, and well known. Tell
+them they are wrong."
+
+But Isaacstein was wobbling now in a renewed state of excitement.
+
+"What can I do, boy!" he vociferated, almost hysterically. "You must say
+where you got these stones, and then, perhaps, you can clear up
+everything."
+
+Philip's lips met in a thin seam.
+
+"I will never tell you," he answered, and not another word would he
+utter.
+
+They searched him and found nothing in his pockets save a key, a broken
+knife, some bits of string neatly coiled, and a couple of buttons. He
+spent the next hour miserably in a whitewashed cell. He refused some
+coffee and bread brought to him at twelve o'clock, and this was the only
+sentient break in a wild jumble of conflicting thoughts. The idea came
+to him that he must be dreaming--that soon he would awaken amidst the
+familiar surroundings of Johnson's Mews. To convince himself that this
+was not so, he reviewed the history of the preceding twenty-four hours.
+At that time yesterday he was going to Fleet Street with a capital of
+ninepence to buy a quire of newspapers. He remembered where he had sold
+each of the five copies, where he bought a penny bun, and how he came to
+lose his stock and get cuffed into the bargain for rescuing a girl from
+an overturning carriage.
+
+Then his mind reverted to his fixed resolve to hang himself, and his
+stolid preparations for the last act in his young life's tragedy. Was
+that where the dream started, or was the whole thing a definite reality,
+needing only a stout heart and unfaltering purpose to carry him through
+triumphantly? Yes. That was it. "Be strong and brave and all will be
+well with you." Surely his mother had looked beyond the grave when she
+uttered her parting words. Perhaps, if he lay down and closed his eyes,
+he would see her. He always hoped to see her in his dreams, but never
+was the vision vouchsafed to him. Poor lad, he did not understand that
+his sleep was the sound sleep of health and innocence, when dreams, if
+they come at all, are but grotesque distortions of the simple facts of
+everyday existence. Only once had he dimly imagined her presence, and
+that was at a moment which his sane mind now refused to resurrect.
+
+Nevertheless, he was tired. Yielding to the conceit, he stretched
+himself on the wooden couch that ran along one side of his narrow cell.
+
+Some one called to him, not unkindly.
+
+"Now, youngster, jump up. The van is here."
+
+He was led through gloomy corridors and placed in a receptacle just
+large enough to hold him uncomfortably in a huge, lumbering vehicle. He
+thought he was the only occupant, which was true enough, the prisoners'
+van having made a special call for his benefit.
+
+After a rumbling journey through unseen streets, he emerged into another
+walled-in courtyard. He was led through more corridors, and told to
+"skip lively" up a winding staircase. At the top he came out into a big
+room, with a well-like space in front of him, filled with a huge table,
+around which sat several gentlemen, among them Mr. Isaacstein, while on
+an elevated platform beyond was an elderly man, who wore eyeglasses and
+who wrote something in a book without looking up when Philip's name was
+called out.
+
+A police inspector, whom Philip had not seen before, made a short
+statement, and was followed by the constable who effected the arrest.
+His story was brief and correct, and then the inspector stated that Mr.
+Wilson, of Grant & Sons, Ludgate Circus, would be called at the next
+hearing, as he--the inspector--would ask for a remand to enable
+inquiries to be made. Meanwhile, Mr. Isaacstein, of Hatton Garden, had
+made it convenient to attend that day, and would be pleased to give
+evidence if his worship desired to hear him.
+
+"Certainly," said Mr. Abingdon, the magistrate. "This seems to be a
+somewhat peculiar case, and I will be glad if Mr. Isaacstein can throw
+any light upon it."
+
+But Mr. Isaacstein could not do any such thing. He wound up a succinct
+account of Philip's visit and utterances by declaring that there was no
+collection of meteoric diamonds known to him from which such a
+remarkable set of stones could be stolen.
+
+This emphatic statement impressed the magistrate.
+
+"Let me see them," he said.
+
+The parcel was handed up to him, and he examined its contents with
+obvious interest.
+
+"Are you quite sure of their meteoric origin, Mr. Isaacstein?" he asked.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Can you form any estimate of their probable value?"
+
+"About fifty thousand pounds!"
+
+The reply startled the magistrate, and it sent a thrill through the
+court.
+
+"Really! So much!" Mr. Abingdon was almost scared.
+
+"If, after cutting, they turn out as well as I expect, that is a
+moderate estimate of their worth."
+
+"I take it, from what you say, that meteoric diamonds are rare?"
+
+Isaacstein closed his throat with a premonitory cough and bunched up his
+shoulders. A slight wobble was steadied by his stumpy hands on the rail
+of the witness box. He was really the greatest living authority on the
+subject, and he knew it.
+
+"It is a common delusion among diamond miners that diamonds fall from
+the skies in meteoric showers," he said. "There is some sort of
+foundation for this mistaken view, as the stones are found in volcanic
+pipes or columns of diamantiferous material, and the crude idea is that
+gigantic meteors fell and plowed these deep holes, distributing diamonds
+in all directions as they passed. But the so-called pipes are really the
+vents of extinct volcanoes. Ignorant people do not realize that the
+chemical composition of the earth does not differ greatly from that of
+the bodies which surround it in space, so that the same process of
+manufacture under high temperature and at great pressure which creates
+a diamond in a meteor has equal powers here. In a word, what has
+happened in the outer universe has also happened at Kimberley. Iron acts
+as the solvent during the period of creation, so to speak. Then, in the
+lapse of ages, it oxidizes by the action of air or water, and the
+diamonds remain."
+
+The magistrate nodded.
+
+"There are particles of a mineral that looks like iron among these
+stones?" he said.
+
+The question gave Isaacstein time to draw a fresh supply of breath. Sure
+of his audience now, he proceeded more slowly.
+
+"That is a certain proof of a meteoric source. A striking confirmation
+of the fact is supplied by a district in Arizona. Here, on a plain five
+miles in diameter, are scattered thousands of masses of metallic iron,
+varying in weight from half a ton to a fraction of one ounce. An
+enormous meteoric shower fell there at some period, and near the center
+is a crater-like hole which suggests the impact of some very large body
+which buried itself in the earth. All mineralogists know the place as
+the Canyon Diabolo, or Devil's Gulch, and specimens of its ore are in
+every collection. Ordinary tools were spoiled, and even emery wheels
+worn by some hard ingredient in the iron, and analysis has revealed the
+presence therein of three distinct forms of diamond--the ordinary stone,
+like these now before you, both transparent and black graphite, and
+amorphous carbon; that is, carbon without crystallization."
+
+"I gather that the diamantiferous material was present in the form of
+tiny particles and not in stones at all approaching these in size?" said
+Mr. Abingdon.
+
+"Exactly. I have never either seen or heard of specimens like those. In
+1886 a meteor fell in Russia, and contained one per cent. of diamond in
+a slightly metamorphosed state. In 1846 the Ava meteorite fell in
+Hungary, and it held crystalline graphite in the bright as well as the
+dark form. But, again, the distribution was well diffused, and of slight
+commercial value. Sir William Crookes, or any eminent chemist, will bear
+me out in the assumption that the diamonds now before your eyes are
+absolutely matchless by the product of any recorded meteoric source."
+
+Isaacstein, having delivered his little lecture, looked and felt
+important. The magistrate bent forward with a pleasant smile.
+
+"I am very much obliged to you for the highly interesting information
+you have given," he said. "One more question--the inevitable corollary
+of your evidence is that the boy now in the dock has either found a
+meteor or a meteoric deposit. Can you say if it is a matter of recent
+occurrence?"
+
+"Judging by the appearance of the accompanying scraps of iron ore, I
+should say that they have been quite recently in a state of flux from
+heat. The silicates seem to be almost eliminated."
+
+The magistrate was unquestionably puzzled. Queer incidents happen in
+police courts daily, and the most unexpected scientific and technical
+points are elucidated in the effort to secure an accurate comprehension
+of matters in dispute. But never, during his long tenancy of the court,
+had he been called on to deal with a case of this nature. He smiled in
+his perplexity.
+
+"We all remember the copy-book maxim: 'Let justice be done though the
+heavens fall,'" he said; "but here it is clearly shown that the ideal
+is not easily reached."
+
+Of course, everyone laughed, and the reporters plied pen and pencil with
+renewed activity. Here was a sensation with a vengeance--worth all the
+display it demanded in the evening papers. Headlines would whoop through
+a quarter of a column, and Philip's meteor again run through space.
+
+The boy himself was apparently the most disinterested person present.
+While listening to Isaacstein, he again experienced the odd sensation of
+aloofness, of lofty domination, amidst a commonplace and insignificant
+environment. The Jew was clever, of course, but his cleverness was that
+of the text-book, a dry record of fact which needed genius to illuminate
+the printed page. And these lawyers, reporters, policemen, with the
+vacuous background of loungers, the friends and bottle holders of
+thieves and drunkards--the magistrate, even, remote in his dignity and
+sense of power--what were they to him?--of no greater import than the
+paving stones of the streets to the pulsating life of London as it
+passed.
+
+The magistrate glanced at Isaacstein and stroked his chin. The Jew gazed
+intently at the packet of diamonds and rubbed his simous nose. There was
+a deep silence in court, broken only by the occasional shuffle of feet
+among the audience at the back--a shuffle which stopped instantly when
+the steely glance of a policeman darted in that direction.
+
+At last the magistrate seemed to make up his mind to a definite course
+of action.
+
+"There is only one person present," he said, "who can throw light on
+this extraordinary case, and that is the boy himself."
+
+He looked at Philip, and all eyes quickly turned toward the thin, ragged
+figure standing upright against the rail that shut him off from the well
+of the court. The professional people present noted that the magistrate
+did not allude to the strange-looking youth as "the prisoner."
+
+What was going to happen? Was this destitute urchin going to leave the
+court with diamonds in his pocket worth fifty thousand pounds? Oddly
+enough, no one paid heed to Philip's boast that he owned far more than
+that amount. It was not he, but his packet of diamonds, that evoked
+wonder. And had not Isaacstein, the great merchant and expert, appraised
+them openly! Was it possible that those dirty-white pebbles could be
+endowed with such potentiality. Fifty thousand pounds! There were men in
+the room, and not confined to the unwashed, whose palates dried and
+tongues swelled at the notion.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI.
+
+_A Game of Hazard._
+
+
+Philip knew that a fresh ordeal was at hand. How could he preserve his
+secret--how hope to prevail against the majesty of British law as
+personified by the serene authority of the man whose penetrating glance
+now rested on him? His was a dour and stubborn nature, though hardly
+molded as yet in rigid lines. He threw back his head and tightened his
+lips. He would cling to his anonymity to the bitter end, no matter what
+the cost. But he would not lie. Never again would he condescend to adopt
+a subterfuge.
+
+"Philip Morland," began the magistrate.
+
+"My name is not Philip Morland," interrupted the boy.
+
+"Then what is your name?"
+
+"I will not tell you, sir. I mean no disrespect, but the fact that I am
+treated as a criminal merely because I wish to dispose of my property
+warns me of what I may expect if I state publicly who I am and where I
+live."
+
+For the first time the magistrate heard the correct and well-modulated
+flow of Philip's speech. If anything, it made more dense the mist
+through which he was trying to grope his way.
+
+"What do you mean?" he asked.
+
+"I mean that if I state who I am, I will be robbed and swindled by all
+with whom I come in contact. I have starved, I have been beaten, for
+trying to earn a living. I was struck last night for saving a girl's
+life. I was arrested and dragged through the streets, handcuffed, this
+morning, because I went openly to a dealer to sell a portion--to sell
+some of my diamonds. I will take no more risks. You may imprison me, but
+you cannot force me to speak. If you are a fair man, you will give me
+back my diamonds and let me go free."
+
+This outburst fairly electrified the court. Philip could not have
+adopted a more domineering tone were he the Governor of the Bank of
+England charged with passing a counterfeit half-crown. The magistrate
+was as surprised as any.
+
+"I do not wish to argue with you," he said, quietly; "nor do I expect
+you to commit yourself in any way. But you must surely see that for a
+poverty-stricken boy to be found in possession of gems of great
+marketable value is a circumstance that demands inquiry, however honest
+and--er--well bred you may be."
+
+"The only witness against me has said that the diamonds could not have
+been stolen," cried Philip, now thoroughly aroused, and ready for any
+war of wits.
+
+"Quite true. The inference is that you have discovered a meteoric
+deposit of diamonds."
+
+"I have. Some--not all--are before you."
+
+A tremor shook the court. Isaacstein swallowed something, and his head
+sank more deeply below his shoulders.
+
+"Then I take it that you will not inform me of the locality of this
+deposit?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"And you think that by disclosing your name and address you will reveal
+that locality?"
+
+Philip grew red.
+
+"Is it fair," he said, with a curious iciness in his tone, "that a man
+of your age should use his position and knowledge to try and trip a boy
+who is brought before you on a false charge?"
+
+It was the magistrate's turn to look slightly confused. There was some
+asperity in his reply.
+
+"I am not endeavoring to trip you, but rather to help you to free
+yourself from a difficult position. However, do I understand that you
+refuse to answer any questions?"
+
+"I do." The young voice rang through the building with an amazing
+fierceness.
+
+Mr. Abingdon bent over the big book in front of him and scribbled
+something.
+
+"Remanded for a week," he muttered.
+
+"Downstairs," growled the court jailer, and Philip disappeared from
+sight. The magistrate was left gazing at the packet of diamonds, and he
+called Isaacstein, the clerk of the court, and two police inspectors
+into his private office for a consultation.
+
+Meanwhile London was placarded with Philip's adventures that Saturday
+evening. Contents bills howled in their blackest and biggest type,
+newsvenders bawled themselves hoarse over this latest sensation,
+journalistic ferrets combined theory and imagination in the effort to
+spin out more "copy," Scotland Yard set its keenest detectives at work
+to reveal the secret of Philip's identity, while Isaacstein, acting on
+the magistrate's instructions, wrote to every possible source of
+information in the effort to obtain some clew as to recent meteoric
+showers.
+
+No one thought of connecting the great storm with the "Diamond Mystery."
+Meteors usually fall from a clear sky, and are in no way affected by
+atmospheric disturbances, their normal habitat being far beyond the
+influence of the earth's envelope of air.
+
+And so the "hunt for the meteor" commenced, and was kept up with zest
+for many days. "Have you found it?" became the stock question of the
+humorist, and might be addressed with impunity to any stranger,
+particularly if the stranger were a nice-looking girl. No one answered
+"What?" because of the weird replies that were forthcoming.
+
+The police failed utterly in their efforts to discover Philip's identity
+or residence. Johnson's Mews, Mile End Road, might as well be in
+Timbuctoo for all the relation it bore to Ludgate Hill or Hatton Garden.
+An East End policeman might have recognized Philip had he seen him, but
+the official description of his clothing and personal appearance applied
+to thousands of hobbledehoys in every district of London.
+
+Two persons among the six millions of the metropolis alone possessed the
+knowledge that would have led the inquirers along the right track. The
+doctor who attended Mrs. Anson in her last illness, had he read the
+newspaper comments on the boy's speech and mannerisms, might have seen
+the coincidence supplied by the Christian name, and thus been led to
+make some further investigation. But his hands were full of trouble on
+his own account. A dispenser mixed a prescription wrongly, and dosed a
+patient with half an ounce of arsenic instead of half an ounce of cream
+of tartar. The subsequent inquest gave the doctor enough to do, and the
+first paper he had leisure to peruse contained a bare reference to the
+"Diamond Mystery" as revealing no further developments. He passed the
+paragraph unread.
+
+The remaining uncertain element centered in old O'Brien, the pensioner.
+Now it chanced that the treasury had discovered that by a clerical
+mistake in a warrant, the old man had been drawing twopence a day in
+excess of his rightful pension for thirty-three years. Some humorist in
+Whitehall thereupon sent him a demand for one hundred and three pounds
+and fifteen shillings, and the member of the Whitechapel Division was
+compelled to adopt stern tactics in the House before the matter was
+adjusted, and O'Brien was allowed to receive the reduced quarterly
+stipend then due. During that awful crisis the poor, old fellow hardly
+ate or slept. Even when it had ended, the notion remained firmly fixed
+in his mind that the "murdherin' government had robbed him of a hundred
+gowlden sovereigns, an' more."
+
+As for newspapers, the only item he read during many days was the
+question addressed by his "mimber" to the Chancellor of the Exchequer
+and the brief reply thereto, both of which were fixed beforehand by
+mutual arrangement.
+
+In one instance the name given and afterward repudiated by the boy did
+attract some attention. On the Monday following the remand, a lady sat
+at breakfast in a select West End Hotel, and languidly perused the
+record of the case until her eye caught the words "Philip Morland." Then
+her air of delicate hauteur vanished, and she left her breakfast
+untouched until, with hawklike curving of neck and nervous clutching of
+hands, she had read every line of the police court romance. She was a
+tall, thin, aristocratic-looking woman, with eyes set too closely
+together, a curved nose, like the beak of a bird of prey, and hands
+covered with a leathery skin suggesting talons. Her attire and pose
+were elegant, but she did not seem to be a pleasant sort of person. Her
+lips parted in a vinegary smile as she read. She evidently did not
+believe one word of the newspaper report in so far as the diamonds were
+concerned.
+
+"A vulgar swindle!" she murmured to herself. "How is it possible for a
+police magistrate to be taken in in such manner! I suppose the Jew
+person knows more about it than appears on the surface. But how came the
+boy to give that name? It is sufficiently uncommon to be remarkable. How
+stupid it was of Julie to mislay my dressing case. It would be really
+interesting to know what has become of those people, and now I may have
+to leave town before I can find out."
+
+How much further her disjointed comments might have gone it is
+impossible to say, but at that moment a French maid entered the room and
+gazed inquiringly around the various small tables with which it was
+filled. At last she found the lady, who was breakfasting alone, and sped
+swiftly toward her.
+
+"I am so glad, milady," she said, speaking in French. "The bag has found
+itself at the police station. The cabman brought it there, and, if you
+please, milady, as the value was given as eight pounds, he claimed a
+reward of one pound."
+
+"Which you will pay yourself. You lost the bag," was the curt reply.
+"Where is it?"
+
+The maid's voice was somewhat tearful as she answered:
+
+"In milady's room. I paid the sovereign."
+
+Her ladyship rose and glided gracefully toward the door, followed by the
+maid, who whispered to a French waiter--bowing most deferentially to
+the guest as he held the door open--that her mistress was a cat. He
+confided his own opinion that her ladyship was a holy pig, and the two
+passed along a corridor.
+
+Lady Morland hastily tore open the recovered dressing case, and
+consulted an address book.
+
+"Oh! here it is," she cried, triumphantly. "Number three, Johnson's
+Mews, Mile End Road, E. What a horrid-smelling place. However, Messrs.
+Sharpe & Smith will now be able to obtain some definite intelligence for
+me. Julie! My carriage in ten minutes."
+
+Thus it happened that during the afternoon, a dapper little clerk
+descended from an omnibus in the neighborhood of Johnson's Mews, and
+began his inquiries, as all Londoners do, by consulting a policeman.
+Certain facts were forthcoming.
+
+"A Mrs. Anson, a widow, who lived in Johnson's Mews? Yes, I think a
+woman of that name died a few weeks ago. I remember seeing a funeral
+leave the mews. I don't know anything about the boy. Sometimes, when I
+pass through there at night, I have seen a light in the house. However,
+here it is. Let's have a look at it."
+
+The pair entered the mews and approached the deserted house. The
+solicitor's clerk knocked and then tried the door; it was locked. They
+both went to the window and looked in. Had Philip hanged himself, as he
+intended, they would have been somewhat surprised by the spectacle that
+would have met their eyes. As it was, they only saw a small room of
+utmost wretchedness, with a mattress lying on the floor in front of the
+fireplace. An empty tin and a bundle of old letters rested on a rickety
+chair, and a piece of sacking was thrust through two broken panes in
+the small window opposite.
+
+"Not much there, eh?" laughed the policeman.
+
+"Not much, indeed. The floor is all covered with dirt, and if it were
+not for the bed, one would imagine that the house was entirely deserted.
+Are you sure Mrs. Anson is dead?"
+
+"Oh, quite sure. Hers was rather a hard case, some one told me. I
+remember now; it was the undertaker. He lives near here."
+
+"And the boy. Has he gone away?"
+
+"I don't know. I haven't seen him lately."
+
+Each of these men had read all the reports concerning Philip and his
+diamonds. Large numbers of tiny, white pebbles were lying on the floor
+beneath their eyes, but the window was not clean, and the light was far
+from good, as the sky was clouded. Yet they were visible enough. The
+clerk noticed them at once, but neither he nor the policeman paid more
+heed to the treasures almost at their feet than was given by generations
+of men to the outcrop of the main reef at Johannesburg. At last they
+turned away. The clerk gave the policeman a cigar with the remark:
+
+"I will just ask the undertaker to give me a letter, stating the facts
+about Mrs. Anson's death. I suppose the boy is in the workhouse?"
+
+"Who knows! It often beats me to tell what becomes of the kids who are
+left alone in London. Poor, little devils, they mostly go to the bad.
+There should be some means of looking after them, I think."
+
+Thus did Philip, bravely sustaining his heart in the solitude of a
+prison, escape the greatest danger that threatened the preservation of
+his secret, and all because a scheming woman was too clever to tell her
+solicitors the exact reason for her anxiety concerning the whereabouts
+of Mrs. Anson and her son.
+
+The boy passed a dolorous Saturday night and Sunday. Nevertheless, the
+order, the cleanliness, the comparative comfort of a prison, were not
+wholly ungrateful to him. His meals, though crude, were wholesome,
+luxurious, even, compared with the privations he had endured during the
+previous fortnight. The enforced rest, too, did him good, and, being
+under remand, he had nothing to do but eat, take exercise, read a few
+books provided for him, and sleep.
+
+With Monday came a remarkable change in his fare. A pint of first-rate
+cocoa and some excellent bread and butter for breakfast evoked no
+comment on his part, but a dinner of roast beef, potatoes, cabbage and
+rice pudding was so extremely unlike prison diet that he questioned the
+turnkey.
+
+"It's all right, kid," came the brief answer. "It's paid for. Eat while
+you can, and ask no questions."
+
+"But----"
+
+The door slammed, and at the next meal Philip received in silence a cup
+of tea and a nice tea cake. This went on during three days. The good
+food and rest had already worked a marvelous change in his appearance.
+He entered the prison looking like a starved dog. When he rose on the
+Thursday morning and washed himself, no one would have recognized him as
+the same boy were it not for his clothes.
+
+After dinner, he was tidying his cell and replacing the plates and the
+rest on a tin tray, when the door was suddenly flung open and a warder
+cried:
+
+"Come along, Morland. You're wanted at the court."
+
+"At the court!" he could not help saying. "This is only Thursday."
+
+"What a boy you are for arguing. Pick up your hat and come. Your
+carriage waits, my lord. I hope you will like your quarters as well when
+you come back. A pretty stir you have made in the papers the last five
+days."
+
+Philip glanced at the man, who seemed to be in a good humor.
+
+"I will not come back," he said, quietly, "but I wish you would tell me
+who supplied me with food while I have been here."
+
+They were passing along a lofty corridor, and there was no superior
+officer in sight. The warder laughed.
+
+"I don't know, my lord," he said, "but the menoo came from the Royal
+Star Hotel, opposite."
+
+Philip obtained no further news. He passed through an office, a voucher
+was signed for him, and he emerged into the prison yard, where the huge
+prison van awaited him. He was the only occupant, just as on the first
+memorable ride in that conveyance. When he came to the prison from the
+police court he had several companions in misery. But they were
+"stretched." His case was the only "remand."
+
+During the long drive Philip endeavored to guess the cause of this
+unexpected demand for his presence. Naturally, he assumed that Johnson's
+Mews no longer held safe the secret of his meteor. Such few sensational
+romances as he had read credited detectives with superhuman sagacity. In
+his mind, Johnson's Mews was the center of the world. It enshrined the
+marvelous--how could it escape the thousands of prying eyes that passed
+daily through the great thoroughfare of the East End, but a few yards
+away? Judging from the remark dropped by the warder, all London was
+talking about him. A puzzling feature was the abundant supply of good
+food sent to him in the prison. Who was his unknown friend--and what
+explanation was attached to the incident?
+
+Philip's emotions were no more capable of analysis than a display of
+rockets. Immured in this cage, rattling over the pavements, he seemed to
+be advancing through a tunnel into an unknown world.
+
+At last the van stopped, and he was led forth into the yard of the
+police court. He followed the same route as on the previous Saturday,
+but when he ascended into the court itself he discovered a change. The
+magistrate, a couple of clerks, and some policemen alone were present.
+The general public and the representatives of the press were not
+visible.
+
+He had scarcely faced the bench when the magistrate said:
+
+"You are set at liberty. The police withdraw the charge against you."
+
+Philip's eyes sparkled and his breast heaved tumultuously. For the life
+of him he could utter no word, but Mr. Abingdon helped him by quietly
+directing the usher to permit the lad to leave the dock and take a seat
+at the solicitors' table.
+
+Then, speaking slowly and with some gravity, he said:
+
+"Philip Morland--that is the only name by which I know you--the
+authorities have come to the conclusion that your story is right. You
+have unquestionably found a deposit of diamonds, and although this
+necessarily exists on some person's property, there is no evidence to
+show whose property it is. It may be your own. It may be situated beyond
+the confines of this kingdom. There are many hypotheses, each of which
+may be true; but, in any event, if others lay claim to this treasure
+trove--and I warn you that the Crown has a right in such a matter--the
+issue is a civil and not a criminal one. Therefore, you are discharged,
+and your property is now handed back to you intact."
+
+A clerk placed before Philip his parcel of diamonds, his key, the rusty
+knife, the pieces of string, and the two buttons--truly a motley
+collection. The boy was pale, and his voice somewhat tremulous as he
+asked:
+
+"May I go now, sir?"
+
+Mr. Abingdon leaned back in his chair and passed his hand over his face
+to conceal a smile.
+
+"I have something more to say to you," he answered. "It is an offense
+against the law to withhold your name and address. I admit the powerful
+motives which actuated you, so I make the very great concession that
+your earlier refusal will be overlooked if you privately tell me that
+which you were unwilling to state publicly."
+
+Philip instantly decided that it would be foolish in the extreme to
+refuse this offer. He pocketed his diamonds, looked the magistrate
+straight in the face, and said:
+
+"I will do that, sir. As the information is to be given to you alone,
+may I write it?"
+
+The policemen and other officials sniggered at this display of caution,
+but the magistrate nodded, and Philip wrote his name and address on a
+sheet of foolscap, which he folded before handing it to the usher.
+
+To his great surprise, Mr. Abingdon placed the paper in a pocketbook
+without opening it.
+
+"I will make no use of this document unless the matter comes before me
+again officially. I wish to point out to you that I have brought you
+from prison at the earliest possible moment, and have spared you the
+publicity which your movements would attract were your case settled in
+open court. You are not aware, perhaps, that you figure largely in the
+eyes of the public at this moment. There are newspapers which would give
+a hundred pounds to get hold of you. There are thieves who would shadow
+your every movement, waiting for a chance to waylay and rob you--murder
+you, if necessary. I have taken precautions, therefore, to safeguard
+you, at least within the precincts of this court, but I cannot be
+responsible beyond its limits. May I ask what you intend to do?"
+
+Philip, proud in the knowledge that he was cleared of all dishonor, was
+at no loss for words now.
+
+"First, I wish to thank you, sir," he said. "You have acted most kindly
+toward me, and, when I am older, I hope to be permitted to acknowledge
+your thoughtfulness better than is possible to-day. I will endeavor to
+take care of myself. I am going now to see Mr. Isaacstein. I do not
+expect that he will send for a policeman again. If he does, I will bring
+him before you."
+
+The magistrate himself laughed at this sally.
+
+"You are a strange boy," he said. "I think you are acting wisely.
+But--er--you have no money--that is, in a sense. Hatton Garden is some
+distance from here. Let me--er--lend you a cab fare."
+
+"Thank you, sir," said Philip, and Mr. Abingdon, unable to account for
+the interest he felt in the boy, quite apart from his inexplicable
+story, gave him five shillings and shook hands with him.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII.
+
+_A Business Transaction._
+
+
+Outside the police court, Philip drew as invigorating a breath of fresh
+air as the atmosphere of Clerkenwell permitted. He knew that an
+inspector of police and a couple of constables were gazing at him
+curiously through an office window, and the knowledge quickened his
+wits.
+
+It was worth even more than his liberty to realize that, in all
+reasonable probability, his meteor was safe as yet. The police had
+failed in their quest; whom else had he to fear? The company had
+informed his mother that her tenancy of Johnson's Mews would not be
+disturbed before the thirty-first. Of course, her death was known to the
+firm, but their written promise to her was verbally confirmed to Philip
+by the manager. It was now the twenty-fifth. He had five clear days,
+perhaps six, in which to make all his arrangements. The forced seclusion
+of the prison had helped him in one way--it gave him a program, a
+detailed plan. Each step had been carefully thought out, and
+Isaacstein's office was the first stage in the campaign.
+
+A prowling hansom passed. Philip whistled.
+
+"Where's the fare?" demanded the cabman, angrily, looking up and down
+the street.
+
+"Drive me to Holborn Viaduct, quick," said the boy, with his foot on the
+step.
+
+Cabby eyed him with scorn.
+
+"What's the gyme?" he growled. "D'yer tyke me for a mug, or what?"
+
+"Oh, don't talk so much," cried Philip, impatiently. "Are you afraid I
+won't pay you? See! If you lose no more time, I will give you this," and
+he held up a two-shilling piece for the cabman's edification.
+
+It is difficult to surprise your true Cockney whip. The man carefully
+folded the evening paper he had been reading, stuffed it under the strap
+which held his rug and cape, and chirruped to his horse:
+
+"Kim up, lazy bones! We've got a millionaire crossin'-sweeper inside.
+What, ho! Any bloomin' perfession is better'n drivin' a keb."
+
+The run was shorter than Philip anticipated, but, true to his promise,
+he proffered the two shillings.
+
+The cabman looked at him. Something in the boy's face seemed to strike
+him as curious, and, notwithstanding Philip's rags, his skin was
+scrupulously clean.
+
+"Gow on," he cried. "I'll make yer a present of that trip. 'Ope it'll
+giv yer a fresh stawt in the world. Kim up, will yer!" And the hansom
+swung away into the traffic, leaving the boy standing on the pavement on
+the north side of the viaduct. He made a mental note of the cab's
+number. It was easy to remember--three 8's and a 9--and walked on toward
+Hatton Garden.
+
+Meanwhile the cabman, after varying luck, drove to his yard, changed
+horses, secured a fare to a theater, and joined the Haymarket rank while
+he took a meal in the cabmen's shelter.
+
+"What's to-day's bettin' on the National?" he asked a friend.
+
+The evening paper was passed and he cast an eye over its columns.
+Suddenly he rapped out a string of expressions that amazed his
+companions.
+
+"What's the matter, Jimmie? Missed a twenty to one chance at Lincoln?"
+
+"Great Scott! I thought he'd lift the roof off."
+
+"Go easy, mate. There's lydies outside."
+
+But the cabman still swore and gazed round-eyed at the sheet. And this
+is what he read:
+
+     "The boy, Philip Morland, whose possession of a collection of
+     meteoric diamonds of great value has created so much sensation, was
+     brought up on remand to-day at the Clerkenwell Police Court, and
+     released. Mr. Abingdon thought fit to hear the case in camera, so
+     this ragged urchin is wandering about London again with a pocketful
+     of gems. He was last seen entering a cab in the neighborhood of the
+     police court, and inquiry by our representative at the Hatton
+     Garden offices of Mr. Isaacstein, the diamond merchant, whose name
+     has figured in connection with the case, elicited the information
+     that Morland called there about 3 P.M. Mr. Isaacstein positively
+     refused to make any further statement for publication, but it is
+     probable that developments in this peculiar and exciting affair
+     will take place at any moment."
+
+In a word, the journalistic world was exceedingly wroth with both Mr.
+Abingdon and the Jew for balking it of a very readable bit of news. No
+effort would be spared to defeat their obvious purpose. Philip must be
+discovered by hook or by crook, and badgered incessantly until he
+divulged the secret of the meteor.
+
+At last the cabman became lucid.
+
+"I'm done," he groaned. "My brains are a fuzzball. 'Ere! Some one drink
+my beer. I'm goin' in fer cow-cow. I 'ad this young spark in my keb
+to-d'y an' didn't know it. 'E offered me two bob, 'e did, an' I stood
+'im a drive as a treat, 'e looked sich a scarecrow."
+
+"Who's next?" cried a raucous voice at the door.
+
+"I am," roared the disappointed one.
+
+"Well, look sharp. There's a hold gent a-wavin' 'is humbreller like
+mad----"
+
+"Keep 'im. Don't let 'im go. I'll be there in 'arf a tick. Who knows!
+P'raps it's Rothschild."
+
+Meanwhile Philip did not hesitate an instant once he reached
+Isaacstein's office. A new note in his character was revealing itself.
+Always resolute, fearless and outspoken, now he was confident. He pushed
+open the swing door with the manner of one who expects his fellows to
+bow before him. Was he not rich--able to command the services of
+men--why should he falter? He forgot his rags, forgot the difficulties
+and dangers that might yet beset his path, for in very truth he had
+achieved but little actual progress since he first entered that office
+five days earlier.
+
+But he had suffered much since then, and suffering had strengthened him.
+Moreover, he had taken the measure of Isaacstein. There was a score to
+be wiped off before that worthy and he entered into amicable business
+relations.
+
+The instant the immature Jew behind the grille set eyes on Philip, he
+bounded back from the window and gazed at him with a frightened look.
+Had this young desperado broken out of prison and come to murder them
+all?
+
+"Help! help!" he shouted. "Murder!"
+
+Clerks came running from the inner office, among them the elderly man
+who interfered in Philip's behalf on the last occasion.
+
+"Make that idiot shut up," said Philip, calmly, "and tell Mr. Isaacstein
+I am here."
+
+The office boy was silenced, and the excitement calmed down. Yes, the
+diamond merchant was in. If Philip would walk upstairs to the waiting
+room, his presence would be announced.
+
+"Thank you," he said; "but kindly see that this urchin does not let
+others know I am here. I don't want a crowd to be gathered in the street
+when I come out."
+
+Such cool impudence from a ragamuffin was intolerable, or nearly so. But
+Isaacstein ruled his minions with a rod of iron, and they would fain
+wait the little man's pleasure ere they ventured their wrath on the boy.
+Besides, they were afraid of Philip. Like most people in London, they
+had read the newspaper reports of the police court proceedings, and they
+were awed by his strangely incomprehensible surroundings.
+
+So he was silently ushered upstairs, and soon he caught the thick-voiced
+order of Isaacstein:
+
+"Show him in."
+
+The Jew, however, dived into his private sanctum before Philip entered
+the general office. The boy found him there, seated at his table.
+
+The duel began with questions:
+
+"How did you get out so soon? You were remanded for a week."
+
+"Are you going to send for a policeman?"
+
+"Don't be rude, boy, but answer me."
+
+"I am not here to satisfy your curiosity, Mr. Isaacstein. I have called
+simply on a matter of business. It is sufficient for you to know that
+Mr. Abingdon has set me at liberty and restored my property to me. Do
+you wish to deal with me or not?"
+
+The diamond merchant tingled with anger. He was not accustomed to being
+browbeaten even by the representatives of the De Beers Company, yet here
+was a callow youngster addressing him in this outrageous fashion,
+betraying, too, an insufferable air of contempt in voice and manner. He
+glared at Philip in silent wrath for an instant.
+
+The boy smiled. He took from his pocket the paper of diamonds and began
+to count them. The action said plainly:
+
+"You know you cannot send me away. If I go to your trade rivals you will
+lose a magnificent opportunity. You are in my hands. No matter how rude
+I am to you, you must put up with it."
+
+Nevertheless, the Jew made an effort to preserve his tottering dignity.
+
+"Do you think," he said, "that you are behaving properly in treating a
+man of my position in such a way in his own office?"
+
+In his own office--that was the sting of it.
+
+The head of the firm of Isaacstein & Co., of London, Amsterdam and
+Kimberley, to be bearded in such fashion in his own particular shrine!
+Why, the thing was monstrous!
+
+Philip looked him squarely in the eyes.
+
+"Mr. Isaacstein," he said, calmly, "have you forgotten that you caused
+me to be arrested as a thief and dragged, handcuffed, through the open
+streets by a policeman? I have spent five days in jail because of you.
+At the moment when I was praising your honesty you were conveying secret
+signals to your clerks in the belief that I was something worse than a
+pickpocket. Was your treatment of me so free from blame at our first
+meeting as to serve as a model at the second?"
+
+The chair was creaking now continuously; the Jew swung from side to side
+during this lecture. He strove hard to restrain himself, but the
+feverish excitement of Saturday returned with greater intensity than
+ever. He jumped up, and Philip imagined for a second that robbery with
+violence was imminent.
+
+"Confound it all, boy!" yelled the merchant, "what was I to do when a
+ragged loafer like you came in and showed me a diamond worth a thousand
+pounds and told me he had dozens, hundreds, more like it? Did you expect
+me to risk standing in the dock by your side? Who could have given
+fairer evidence in your behalf than I did? Who proved that you could not
+have stolen the stones? Whom have you to thank for being at liberty now,
+but the expert who swore that no such diamonds had been seen before in
+this world?"
+
+Philip waited until the man's passion had exhausted itself. Then he went
+on coolly:
+
+"That is your point of view, I suppose. Mine is that you could have
+satisfied yourself concerning all those points without sending me to
+prison. However, this discussion is beside the present question. Will
+you buy my diamonds?"
+
+Isaacstein recovered his seat. He wiped his face vigorously, but the
+trading instinct conquered his fury.
+
+"Yes," he snapped. "How much do you want for them?"
+
+"I notice that their value steadily increases. The first time you saw
+this diamond"--and he held up the stone originally exhibited to the
+Jew--"you said it was worth six or seven hundred pounds. To-day you
+name a thousand. However, I will take your own valuation for this
+unimportant collection, and accept fifty thousand pounds."
+
+"Oh, you will, will you! And how will you have it, in notes or gold?"
+
+He could not help this display of cheap sarcasm. The situation was
+losing its annoyance; the humor of it was beginning to dawn on him. When
+his glance rested more critically on Philip, the boy's age, the poverty
+of his circumstances, the whole fantastic incongruity of the affair,
+forced his recognition.
+
+Not unprepared for such a retort, Philip gathered the stones together,
+and twisted the ends of the paper. Evidently the parcel was going back
+into his pocket. He glanced at a clock, too, which ticked solemnly over
+the office door.
+
+"Here, what are you doing?" cried Isaacstein.
+
+"Going to some one who will deal with me in a reasonable manner. It is
+not very late yet. I suppose there are plenty of firms like yours in
+Hatton Garden, or I can go back to Mr. Wilson----"
+
+"Sit down. Sit down," growled the Jew, vainly striving to cloak his
+nervousness by a show of grim jocosity. "I never saw such a boy in my
+life. You are touchy as gunpowder. I was only joking."
+
+"I am not joking, Mr. Isaacstein. Your price is my price--fifty thousand
+pounds."
+
+"Do you think I carry that amount of money in my purse?" demanded
+Isaacstein, striving desperately to think out some means whereby he
+could get Philip into more amiable mood, when, perchance, the true
+story of the gems might be revealed.
+
+"No," was the answer. "Even if you gave it to me I should not take it
+away. I want you to advance, say fifty pounds, to-day. I require
+clothes--and other things. Then, to-morrow, you can bring me to a bank,
+and pay a portion of the purchase price to my credit, giving me at the
+same time a written promise to pay the remainder within a week, or a
+month--any reasonable period, in fact."
+
+The diamond merchant was quickly becoming serious, methodical, as he
+listened. This business-like proposal was the one thing needed to
+restore his bewildered faculties.
+
+"Tell me, boy," he said, "who has been advising you?"
+
+"No one."
+
+"Do you mean to say you came here to-day to trade with me without
+consulting any other person?"
+
+"I certainly told Mr. Abingdon I was coming, and I feel that I can
+always return to him for any advice if I am in a difficulty, but the
+offer I have just made is my own."
+
+Watching Isaacstein's face was an interesting operation to Philip. Under
+ordinary conditions he might as well expect to find emotion depicted in
+a pound of butter as in that oily countenance, with its set expression
+molded by years of sharp dealings. But to-day the man was startled out
+of all the accustomed grooves of business. He was confronted with a
+problem so novel that his experience was not wide enough to embrace it.
+
+So Philip caught a gleam of resentment at the introduction of the
+magistrate's name, and he instantly resolved to see Mr. Abingdon again
+at the earliest opportunity.
+
+"Oh, he treated you kindly to-day, did he?" snarled Isaacstein.
+
+"Yes, most kindly."
+
+"You don't drink, I suppose?" broke in the other, abruptly.
+
+"No. I am only a boy of fifteen, and do not need stimulants."
+
+He was favored with a sharp glance at this remark, but he bent over his
+diamonds again and began to examine them, one by one. He knew that the
+action was tantalizing to his companion, and that is why he did it.
+
+Isaacstein went to a sideboard and poured out a stiff glass of brandy.
+He swallowed it as an ordinary person takes an oyster.
+
+"That's better," he said, returning to his desk. "Now we can get to
+close quarters. Hand over the stones."
+
+Philip did nothing of the sort.
+
+"Why?" he inquired, blandly. "You know all about them. You can hardly
+want to examine them so frequently."
+
+"Confound it!" cried Isaacstein, growing red with renewed impatience,
+"what more can I do than agree to your terms?"
+
+"I asked you for an advance of fifty pounds. I said nothing about
+leaving the diamonds in your charge. Please listen to me. I make no
+unreasonable demands. If you wish to keep the stones now you must first
+write me a letter stating the agreement between us. If it is right I
+will give you the diamonds. If it is not according to my ideas you must
+alter it."
+
+"Do you think I mean to swindle you?"
+
+"I have no views on that point. I am only telling you what my conditions
+are."
+
+Isaacstein sat back in his chair and regarded Philip fixedly and with as
+much calmness as he could summon to his aid. A ray of sunshine illumined
+a bald patch on the top of his head, and the boy found himself idly
+speculating on developments in the Jew's future life. The man, on his
+part, was seeking to read the boy's inscrutable character, but the
+fixity of Philip's gaze at his denuded crown disconcerted him again.
+
+"What are you looking at?" he demanded, suddenly.
+
+"I was wondering how you will look when you go to heaven, Mr.
+Isaacstein," was the astounding reply.
+
+For some reason it profoundly disturbed his hearer. He wobbled for a
+little while, and finally seemed to make up his mind, though he sighed
+perplexedly. The Jew was not a bad man. In business he was noted for
+exceeding shrewdness combined with strict commercial honesty. But the
+case that now presented itself contained all the elements of temptation.
+No matter how clever this boy might be, he was but a boy, and
+opportunities for cheating him must arrive. If not he, Isaacstein, there
+were others. The boy possessed a large store, possibly a very large
+store, of rough gems, and in dealing with them his agents could rob him
+with impunity. Yet, in answer to an unguarded question, this
+extraordinary youth admitted that Isaacstein might merit eternal bliss.
+Such an eventuality had not occurred to the Jew himself during
+unrecorded years. Now that it was suggested to him it disturbed him.
+
+"You imagine then that I may deal fairly with you?" he said at last.
+
+"Oh, yes. Why should you rob me? You can earn more money than you can
+ever need in this world by looking after my interests properly. If only
+you will believe this statement it will save you much future worry, I
+assure you."
+
+"Were you in earnest when you said that you have an abundance of stones
+like those in your hands?"
+
+"So many, Mr. Isaacstein, that you will have some trouble in disposing
+of them. I have diamonds as big, as big--let me see--as big as an egg."
+
+The wonder is that the Jew did not faint.
+
+"My God!" he gurgled, "do you know what you are saying? Where are they,
+boy? You will be robbed, murdered for their sake. Where are they? Let me
+put them in some safe place. I will deal honestly by you. I swear it, by
+all that I hold sacred. But you must have them taken care of."
+
+"They are quite safe; be certain of that. Reveal my secret I will not. I
+have borne insult and imprisonment to preserve it, so it is not likely I
+will yield now to your appeals."
+
+Philip's face lit up with a strange light as this protest left his lips.
+The meteor was his mother's bequest. She gave it to him, and she would
+safeguard it. Had she failed hitherto? Was not all London ringing with
+the news of his fortune, yet what man or woman had discovered the
+whereabouts of his treasure? In his pocket he felt the great iron key of
+No. 3, Johnson's Mews, and he was as certain now that his hiding place
+was unknown as that his mother's spirit was looking down on him from
+heaven, and directing his every movement.
+
+The Jew, in spite of his own great lack of composure, saw the fleeting
+glimpse of spirituality in the boy's eyes. Puzzled and disturbed though
+he was, he made another violent effort to pull his shattered nerves into
+order.
+
+"There is no need to talk all day," he said, doggedly. "Now I am going
+to tell you something you don't know. If your boast is justified--if you
+really own as many diamonds, and as good ones, as you say you own--there
+must be a great deal of discretion exercised in putting them on the
+market. Diamonds are valuable only because they are rare. There is a
+limit to their possible purchasers. If the diamond mines of the world
+were to pour all their resources forthwith into the lap of the public,
+there would be such a slump that prices would drop fifty, sixty, even
+eighty per cent. Do you follow me?"
+
+"Yes," nodded Philip.
+
+A week earlier he would have said, "Yes, sir," but his soul was bitter
+yet against Isaacstein.
+
+"Very well. It may take me months, years, to realize your collection. To
+do it properly I must have some idea of its magnitude. If there are
+exceptionally large stones among it, they will be dealt with separately.
+They may rival or eclipse the few historical diamonds of the world, but
+their worth can only be measured by the readiness of some fool to pay
+hundreds of thousands for them. See?"
+
+"Yes," nodded Philip again. His sententiousness brought the man to the
+point.
+
+"Therefore you must take me into your confidence. What quantity of
+stones do you possess, and what are their sizes? I must know."
+
+Isaacstein, cooler now, pursed his lips and pressed his thumbs together
+until they appeared to be in danger of dislocation. It was his favorite
+attitude when engaged in a deal. It signified that he had cornered his
+victim. Philip, appealed to in this strictly commercial way, could not
+fail to see it was to his own interest to tell his chosen expert the
+exact facts, and nothing but the facts.
+
+The boy, singularly unflurried in tone and manner, hazarded an inquiry.
+
+"What amount of ordinary diamonds, in their money value I mean, can you
+dispose of readily in the course of a year, Mr. Isaacstein?"
+
+"Oh, two or three hundred thousand pounds' worth; it is a matter largely
+dependent on the condition of trade generally. But that may be regarded
+as a minimum."
+
+"And the bigger stones, worth many thousands each?"
+
+"It is impossible to say. Taking them in the lump, at values varying
+from a thousand each to fancy figures, perhaps fifty thousand pounds'
+worth."
+
+"It would be safe to reckon on a quarter of a million a year, all told?"
+
+"Quite safe."
+
+"Then, Mr. Isaacstein, I will supply you with diamonds of that value
+every year for many years."
+
+The Jew relaxed the pressure on his thumbs. Indeed he passed a tremulous
+hand across his forehead. He was beaten again, and he knew it--worsted
+by a gutter snipe in a war of wits.
+
+The contest had one excellent effect. It stopped all further efforts on
+Isaacstein's part to wrest Philip's secret from him. Thenceforth he
+asked for, and obtained, such diamonds as he needed, and resolutely
+forbade himself the luxury of questioning or probing the extent of his
+juvenile patron's resources.
+
+But there was a long pause before he found his tongue again. His voice
+had lost its aggressiveness when he said:
+
+"In the police court I valued the diamonds you produced at fifty
+thousand pounds. It does not necessarily follow that I am prepared to
+give such a sum for them at this moment. I might do so as a speculation,
+but I take it you do not want me to figure in that capacity. It will be
+better for you, safer for me, if I become your agent. I will take your
+stones to Amsterdam, have them cut sufficiently to enable dealers to
+assess their true worth, and sell them to the best advantage. My charge
+will be ten per cent, and I pay all expenses. To-day I will give you
+fifty pounds. To-morrow I will take you to a bank and place five
+thousand to your credit. Meanwhile, I will give you a receipt for thirty
+stones, weighing, in the rough, so many carats, and you, or anyone you
+may appoint, can see the sale vouchers subsequently, when I will hand
+you the balance after deducting £5,050 and my ten per cent. The total
+price may exceed fifty thousand, or it may be less, but I do not think I
+will be far out in my estimate. Are you agreeable?"
+
+Some inner monitor told Philip that the Jew was talking on sound
+business lines. There was a ring of sincerity in his voice. Apparently
+he had thrust temptation aside, and was firmly resolved to be content
+with his ten per cent.
+
+And this might well be. Twenty-five thousand pounds a year earned by a
+few journeys to the Continent--a few haggling interviews in the Hatton
+Garden office! What a gold mine! Moreover, he would be the head man in
+the trade. He was that now, in some respects; but under the new
+conditions none could gainsay his place at the top. Even the magnates of
+Kimberley would be staggered by this new source of supply. What did it
+matter if the boy kept to his rags and amazed the world, so long as the
+diamonds were forthcoming? It was no silk-hatted gentleman who first
+stumbled across the diamond-laden earth of South Africa. Isaacstein had
+made up his mind. Fate had thrust this business into his lap. He would
+be a fool to lose it out of mere curiosity.
+
+"Yes," said Philip. "I agree to that."
+
+"Samuel!" yelled Isaacstein.
+
+"Coming, sir," was the answering shout, and a flurried clerk appeared.
+
+"Bring in the scales, Samuel."
+
+The scales were brought, and a level space cleared for them on the desk.
+Philip, of course, had never before seen an instrument so delicately
+adjusted. A breath would serve to depress the balance.
+
+The boy held forth his paper, and poured the contents into the tiny
+brass tray of the scales. Samuel's mouth opened and his eyes widened. It
+was his first sight of the diamonds.
+
+"Four ounces, eight pennyweights, five grains--six hundred and
+twenty-nine carats in thirty stones. Oh, good gracious me!" murmured the
+clerk.
+
+Isaacstein checked the record carefully.
+
+"Right!" he said. "Put them in the safe."
+
+Philip raised no protest this time. He knew that the Jew would keep his
+word. Indeed, Isaacstein told Samuel to bring him fifty sovereigns, and
+ere the man returned he began to write on a sheet of letter paper:
+
+"Received from----Here! what's your name?" he broke in.
+
+"Philip."
+
+"Philip what?"
+
+"That will do to-day, thank you. The next time I call I will give you my
+full name and address."
+
+"Please yourself. I am no judge in this matter," and he wrote on:
+
+     "Received from Philip, a boy who refuses any other name, but the
+     same whom I saw in this office on the twentieth inst., and again at
+     the Clerkenwell Police Court on that date, thirty meteoric diamonds
+     weighing in the gross six hundred and twenty-nine carats. I hereby
+     agree to dispose of the same, and to render true account of sales
+     to the said Philip or his agents. My commission to be ten per
+     cent.; the expenses payable by me. I have to-day handed the said
+     Philip fifty pounds in gold, and undertake to place five thousand
+     pounds to his credit to-morrow with my bankers.
+
+     "REUBEN ISAACSTEIN."
+
+After completing this acknowledgment he scribbled something else.
+
+"There," he said, with a sigh of relief, "that is not a very formal
+document, but it will suffice. You can get it stamped to-morrow at
+Somerset House. Just sign this receipt for fifty pounds."
+
+Philip took the two papers and read them carefully. Isaacstein's
+handwriting was a scrawl, but legible enough. The boy reached for a pen
+and signed his Christian name. He was on the point of adding his surname
+in an unguarded moment, but he felt the Jew's eye on him. So he simply
+wrote "Philip" across the stamp at the foot of the receipt.
+
+Isaacstein fully appreciated the incident, and knew that his own
+eagerness defeated the chance, all the more powerful because it was
+involuntary, of ascertaining the name of this marvelous youth.
+
+Philip gathered up his gold, not without counting the coins. They felt
+strangely heavy in his pocket, much heavier than the stones they
+replaced. Yet they formed but a thousandth part of the value of those
+flintlike pebbles. What a queer problem it was, this ratio of worth
+between a few stones and the bright, minted sovereigns.
+
+"What time shall I call to-morrow?" he asked, standing, cap in hand,
+ready to take his departure.
+
+"At eleven. But wait one moment. Have you no friends to look after you?
+See what trouble you may get into. Why, the mere possession of so much
+gold by a boy like you may----"
+
+"I can take care of myself, Mr. Isaacstein. I will be here at eleven.
+Good-afternoon."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII.
+
+_The Transition._
+
+
+It was four o'clock in the afternoon of a fine, but chilly March day
+when Philip regained Holborn with fifty pounds making a lump in his
+pocket, and Isaacstein's letter safely lodged in his coat. The mere
+weight of the gold suggested an unpleasant possibility. His clothes were
+so worn that the frail calico might give way and every golden coin
+rattle forth to the pavement.
+
+So with one of Mr. Abingdon's shillings he made his first purchase, a
+capacious tobacco pouch with a snap mouth, for which he paid ninepence.
+Then he adjourned to an aërated bread shop and ordered some
+refreshments. While the waitress was bringing his cup of tea and piece
+of cake he contrived to slip all the sovereigns but one into the tobacco
+pouch.
+
+He did this with his hand in the pocket itself, and more than once there
+was a pleasant clink as the coins fell into their novel receptacle.
+
+A man sitting near caught the sound, and looked up suspiciously. Philip,
+whose senses were very much on the alert to-day, realized that his
+action was somewhat careless. Without even glancing at his neighbor, he
+took out his remaining couple of shillings and the three pennies, and
+affected to count them with a certain degree of astonishment, as if some
+were missing. The ruse was satisfactory. The man gave him no further
+heed, and soon quitted the restaurant.
+
+Philip tendered the odd sovereign in payment of his bill. The girl
+cashier seemed to be surprised that such a ragged youth should own so
+large a sum.
+
+"All silver, please," said Philip, when she began to count his change.
+
+He would take no more risks if he could avoid them. Not a single
+policeman in London would have failed to arrest him at that moment were
+his store of gold revealed by any chance. Yet Philip was rich honestly,
+and there were men driving away from the city at that hour whose banking
+accounts were plethoric with stolen money. For their carriages the
+policemen would stop the traffic. In neither instance could the
+guardians of the peace be held blameworthy; such is the importance of
+mere appearances.
+
+The boy, during his short and terribly sharp tussle with London life,
+had already grasped this essential fact, and with great skill and method
+he set about the task of altering his own shabby exterior.
+
+In a side street leading out of Gray's Inn Road, he found a secondhand
+clothes shop. Here he purchased a worn, but decent, blue serge suit for
+eight shillings six pence, a pair of boots for five shillings, a cap for
+ninepence, a woolen shirt for two shillings, and a linen collar for
+threepence.
+
+He haggled sufficiently over the bargain to suit the needs of a scanty
+purse.
+
+"I've cut 'em dahn low enough," said the shopkeeper, mournfully. "Things
+isn't wot they was in the ole clo' line, let me tell yer. Not but what
+you do want a new rig-aht."
+
+"Yes," said Philip. "I've got a job, and can't keep it unless I look
+decent."
+
+For the life of him he could not burlesque the Cockney accent, and
+although he used the simplest phraseology, the man glanced at him
+sharply.
+
+"Where are yer workin'?" he said.
+
+"At Isaacstein's in Hatton Garden." The words had not left his lips ere
+he regretted them.
+
+"Wot is 'e?"
+
+"A Jew," and Philip laughed. This quip atoned for the error of the
+admission.
+
+"Bli-me, you won't get a lot aht of 'im."
+
+"No. It cost me some trouble to get an advance, I can assure you."
+
+Philip rattled all his silver and coppers onto the counter. He counted
+out sixteen shillings sixpence.
+
+"Not much left, is there?" he said.
+
+"Well, look 'ere," said the man. "Gimme fifteen bob. You're a sharp lad.
+You'll myke yer w'y all right. Nex' time you want some duds come to me
+an' I'll treat you fair."
+
+"Thank you very much," said Philip, considerably surprised by this
+generous act. "I certainly will not forget you."
+
+"You can change in my little back room if you like. That lot you've got
+on ain't worth tykin' 'ome."
+
+"I am obliged for your kindness, but I must be off now. It is late, and
+I have a long way to go."
+
+"Where to? Holloway?"
+
+"No, cityward."
+
+The clothes and boots were made up in a parcel by this time. Philip
+hurried away, glad to escape further questioning.
+
+"Queer sort o' kid, that," mused the shopkeeper. "My, but 'e must ha'
+bin 'ard up afore 'e took on wiv' a Jew. Wot did 'e s'y 'is nyme was?
+Isaacstein? I've seen that somewhere or other. Now where was it?"
+
+He knew two hours later, for he, too, read the evening paper.
+
+Philip sprang into a 'bus for the Bank. At the Royal Exchange he would
+catch a green 'bus for the Mile End Road.
+
+It was almost dark when he reached the Bank. Thus far the omnibuses
+going east were not crowded. Now the situation had changed.
+
+The human eddy in that throbbing center of life was sending off its
+swirls to all points of the compass, and the eastbound vehicles were
+boarded by an eager crowd almost before the passengers arriving at the
+terminus could descend.
+
+A poor woman, greatly hampered by a baby, was struggling with others to
+obtain a seat in the Mile End Road 'bus. Philip, coming late on the
+scene, saw her swept ruthlessly aside by a number of men and boys. The
+conductor jerked the bell-rope several times. There was no more room.
+
+The woman, white-faced and disappointed, looked around with a woe-begone
+expression. Philip, who would have gladly paid for a cab to take her to
+her destination, dared do nothing of the sort. But he said:
+
+"Keep close to me. I will get you a seat in the next 'bus."
+
+"Oh, I wish you would," she said, with a wan smile. "I am so tired. I
+have walked here from Shepherd's Bush."
+
+"That's a long way to carry a baby."
+
+"What could I do? People won't take care of children without payment. I
+heard I could get work in a laundry there, so I went to look after it.
+There's nothing to be had down our way, is there?"
+
+"Things turn up suddenly," said Philip.
+
+"Not for the poor, my lad. I fear you know that without my telling you.
+But you are young, and will soon be a man."
+
+Her wistful tone went to his heart.
+
+"Didn't you succeed at the laundry?" he inquired.
+
+"Yes; I ought to be thankful. I can earn nine shillings a week there. I
+start on Monday."
+
+"Isn't your husband at work?"
+
+"He is dead. Poor fellow, he caught cold last Christmas, and was buried
+in January. God only knows how I have lived since. If it wasn't for the
+kindness of neighbors, baby and I would have starved. I can ill afford
+this tuppence, but I can't walk any further."
+
+"Well, look out now," he said, cheerily. "Here's our 'bus."
+
+As the vehicle drew up he caught the brass rail with his left hand, and
+warded off assailants with the bundle under his right arm.
+
+"Quick," he said to the woman, as soon as the people inside had
+descended. "Jump in."
+
+She essayed to do so, but was rudely thrust aside by a young man who had
+paused on the roof to light a cigarette. Philip sprang onto the step and
+butted the young gentleman in the stomach with his parcel, causing the
+other to sit down heavily on the stairs. The boy caught the woman's arm
+with his disengaged hand and pulled her up. He dived in after her.
+
+"You young----" roared the discomfited smoker.
+
+"'Ere! Come orf of it," said the conductor. "Why didn't ye git dahn
+before? D'ye want a lift?"
+
+Others hustled the protesting one out of the way.
+
+"Confound the East End, I say," he growled, as he crossed to the Mansion
+House. "What the deuce Lady Louisa Morland wants to keep on sending me
+to that wretched mews for I can't imagine. Anyway, I can tell her this
+time that the place is empty, and will be pulled down next week."
+
+And thus it was that Philip collided with Messrs. Sharpe & Smith's
+clerk, detailed by the anxious Lady Morland to discover his whereabouts.
+They met and bumped into each other in the whirlpool of London just as
+two ships might crash together by night in mid-Atlantic, and draw apart
+with ruffled feelings, or scraped paint, which is the same thing,
+without the slightest knowledge of each other's identity.
+
+Within the omnibus the woman was volubly grateful. She had a kindly
+heart, and timidly essayed questions as to Philip's relatives, hoping
+that she might make their acquaintance.
+
+"I'll be bound, now," she said, "that you have a good mother. You can
+always tell what the parents are like when you see the children."
+
+"My mother was, indeed, dear to me," he replied sadly, again driven out
+of himself by the mournful recollections thus suddenly induced, "but she
+is dead, lost to me forever."
+
+Some people in the 'bus ceased talking. They were attracted by the
+strong, clear voice of this unkempt boy, whose diction and choice of
+words were so outrageously opposed to his garments. Luckily, the
+silence warned him, or his new friend's sympathy might have brought
+about an embarrassing position.
+
+"Poor thing! And is your father dead, too?"
+
+"Yes. He died long ago."
+
+"Where do you live now?"
+
+"Oh," he said, "I have been staying in North London, but will leave
+there soon, and I have not settled anything definitely at present. Where
+is the laundry you spoke of? I will call some day, if I may, and learn
+how you are getting on."
+
+"I will be so pleased. It is a little place in James Street--the only
+one there. Ask for Mrs. Wrigley."
+
+"It is lucky you understand laundry work, or things might go hard with
+you."
+
+She laughed pitifully.
+
+"I don't! They asked me if I was a washer or an ironer. I thought
+washing required least experience, so I said I was a washer. I am quick
+to learn, and will watch the other women. If they find me out I may be
+discharged."
+
+"Oh, cheer up," he said, pleasantly. "I don't suppose you'll find it
+very hard."
+
+Her voice sank almost to a whisper.
+
+"It is not the work I dread, but the surroundings. I was a school
+teacher before my marriage. My husband was an electrical engineer. We
+put all our savings into a little business, and then--the end came."
+
+"Not quite the end. I am only a boy, but I've had ups and downs enough
+to know that the beginning of next week may be a very different affair
+to the end of this. Good-by."
+
+They were passing the London Hospital, and he thought it prudent to
+alight at some distance from Johnson's Mews.
+
+"Well, God bless you, anyhow," she said, earnestly.
+
+"'E's got 'is 'ead screwed on tight, that lad," commented a man sitting
+next to her.
+
+"Better than that, he has a good heart," said Mrs. Wrigley. Most
+fortunate Mrs. Wrigley--to have encountered Philip in that hour, which
+she deemed the blackest in her life.
+
+He hastened through the familiar bustle of the busy thoroughfare with
+heightened expectancy, it is true, but devoid of the least fear that his
+meteor had been discovered. His mother would take good care of it. Why,
+the mere chance remark of the woman he had befriended showed that her
+gentle spirit watched over him wherever he went. Here was a stranger, a
+sad toiler among the millions, who went out of her way to praise the
+goodness of one she had never seen. He laughed joyously. Mrs. Wrigley
+should have further cause to bless his mother's memory.
+
+He passed O'Brien's shop. He saw the old man seated behind the counter.
+Should he go in? No. Better keep wholly to himself at present. Yet he
+hesitated. Which was the more judicious course--to remain hidden,
+unknown, or to drop quietly into the groove where he was recognized?
+With rare perspicacity for one so young, he reflected that only five
+days had elapsed since he last saw the old pensioner. The period bulked
+largely in Philip's life; in O'Brien's it would be as naught.
+
+Yielding to the second thought, he entered the shop.
+
+"Glory be to God, Phil, but it's miself is glad to see ye," cried his
+old friend. "Where have ye bin to, at all at all? Have yez heard what
+the murtherin' War Office is afther doin' to me? I haven't had a sowl to
+sphake to about the throuble they've put on me in me owld age."
+
+This was not strictly accurate. O'Brien had pestered the whole
+neighborhood with the story of his withheld pension and the preposterous
+claim made on him by some red-tape enthusiast in Pall Mall. But his
+plaint effectually stopped all further reference to Philip's
+disappearance. As to the "bit o' shtone," that was "naythur alum nor
+lime," he hadn't a word to say.
+
+Philip borrowed a spade, a small sweeping brush and a strong sack
+without evoking the slightest comment from the pensioner, who discoursed
+incessantly on the iniquity of the "Govermint," and whose farewell
+remark dealt with the attempt to rob him of "a hundred gowlden
+sov'rins."
+
+Decidedly the boy was in luck's way. He had secured some necessary
+implements without attracting any attention. Watching a favorable
+opportunity, he slipped unseen into the gloom of Johnson's Mews. He
+tried the door of No. 3. It was locked. He inserted the key and entered.
+The darkness within was that of utter blindness, but he dumped his
+impedimenta on the floor and locked the door behind him.
+
+Then he groped his doubtful path to the mantelpiece where he had left a
+candle and a box of matches. His boots crunched, as he went, on what he
+knew to be mostly diamonds, and he stumbled over the mattress in front
+of the fireplace. Yes, the candle was there. Soon he had a light. The
+tiny gleam lifted the black curtain, and he surveyed his domain. A
+single glance showed him that all things remained exactly as he left
+them on Saturday morning. The packet of letters rested on the broken
+chair, the old sack was stuffed into the window, and the rope--that
+never-to-be-forgotten rope--dangled from the hook to which he had
+fastened it.
+
+The sight brought a lump into his throat. He sank to his knees, pressed
+down, he felt, by some superior power.
+
+"Mother!" he said, humbly, "forgive me, and ask God to forgive me, for
+what I would have done were you not watching over me."
+
+In the spiritual exaltation of the moment he almost expected to find
+that sweet face peering at him benignantly from out the dim background.
+But he could not see her, and he rose, revivified by this spoken
+communion with her. He had no shadow of doubt as to her presence. God to
+him was the universe, and his mother the unquestionable means of
+communication with the Providence that governed his life. He would die
+rather than abandon that belief. Were it dispelled from his mind he was
+quite certain that his wealth would vanish with it. It was no haphazard
+accident which had sent the diamond-laden meteor headlong from the sky.
+He was despairing, dying; his mother appealed for him; and, behold! the
+very elements that control the world obeyed a mighty behest.
+
+He began to work methodically. In the first place, he lit a fire, for
+the evening was chilly. Then he shook his mattress and swept the floor,
+gathering into a heap all the tiny particles with which it was littered.
+These he collected in a piece of newspaper, and folded them into a
+parcel, which again he inclosed in a stouter sheet of brown paper,
+finally tying the whole with a yard of string he carried in his pocket.
+
+There were hundreds of tiny diamonds in that insignificant package, and
+not a few the size of small peas. As a matter of fact, he discovered
+subsequently that the net result of his sweeping brought him in over a
+thousand pounds.
+
+Having examined every nook and crevice of the apartment by the aid of
+the candle, he satisfied himself that naught remained which would
+indicate to the most curious eye any event out of the common having
+occurred in that humble dwelling.
+
+It was typical of Philip's implicit faith that he did not unlock the
+back door until his interior task was ended. He knew that his meteor was
+untouched.
+
+There was no wind without. The candle, feeble as its rays were,
+illuminated the small yard sufficiently to reveal its débris of white
+stones and darker lumps of metal. Beginning at the doorway, he swept
+vigorously but with minutest care, until he had formed four good-sized
+piles on the flagstones.
+
+He could not afford to differentiate between the débris of the damaged
+pavement and the fragments of the meteor. It was easy to distinguish the
+larger pieces of broken glass from the window inside the house--in the
+yard he had neither the time nor the light to select the bits of
+shattered stone. All must go together, to be sorted with leisured care
+subsequently.
+
+He scrutinized the external window sills, the door posts, the chinks of
+the small coal-house door at the further end of the yard, even the rough
+surfaces of the walls, and removed every speck of loose material. More
+newspaper was requisitioned, but, after utilizing the twine on his
+parcel of clothing, he ran short of string.
+
+He coolly went up the stairs, unfastened the rope with which he had
+intended to hang himself and loosened its stiff strands. Soon he had an
+abundance of strong cord, and four bulky packages were added to the
+first small one.
+
+They were heavy, too, weighing several pounds each. In placing them side
+by side close to the wall beneath the front window, he suddenly realized
+an unforeseen difficulty.
+
+If these shreds of matter--the mere husk, as it were, of the
+meteor--were so ponderous, what would be the weight of the meteor
+itself? How could he hope to lift it from the hole in which it lay--how
+convey it from Johnson's Mews to a new and safer habitation? He might as
+well endeavor to move an unwilling elephant.
+
+The thought chilled him. For the first time since his parting interview
+with Mr. Abingdon, Philip experienced a dread of failure. With something
+of panic in his blood, he snatched the candle and ran hastily into the
+yard. He knelt and held the light low in the excavation. Then he cried
+aloud:
+
+"What! Am I so ready to lose faith in mother?"
+
+For the huge metallic mass--so big that it would not enter the bore of
+the largest cannon known to modern gunnery--was split asunder in all
+directions. Its fissures gaped widely as if to mock at him. The rain and
+steam had done their work well. It was even possible that he would not
+need the spade, but would be able to pick out each separate chunk with
+his hand.
+
+Instantly he put the thought into execution, and succeeded in lifting
+several pieces to the yard level. He noted that they were gorged with
+the dull white pebbles, some being the size of pigeon's eggs. He could
+not help comparing them in his mind's eye with the collection now lodged
+in Isaacstein's safe. If those were worth fifty thousand pounds, these
+must be of fabulous value.
+
+Any other person in the wide world might have been excused if he pinched
+himself, or winked furiously, or took out the gold-filled tobacco pouch
+for careful inspection, to assure himself that he was not dreaming. Not
+so, Philip. The only dominant feeling in his brain was one of annoyance
+that he should have doubted, for one single instant, that means would be
+given him to secure absolute and undisputed control of his treasure.
+
+But there remained the problem of weight. His original idea was to wrap
+the actual body of the meteor in the stout sack he obtained from
+O'Brien, and then inclose all his valuables in a tin trunk which he
+would purchase next morning. Any ordinary trunk would certainly be
+spacious enough, but its phenomenal weight would unquestionably evoke
+more comment than he desired, and it would need two strong men to lift
+it.
+
+This portion of his plan needed to be entirely remodeled, and he was now
+more than ever thankful that the Jew's fifty pounds, save one expended,
+reposed in his pocket. With money, all things, or nearly all things,
+were possible.
+
+Owing to the cramped space in which the meteor lay it was no small task
+to bring it to the surface in sections. But he persevered. By strenuous
+endeavor he accumulated an astonishing pile of iron ore studded with
+diamonds, looking not unlike almonds in a brown cake, and the guttering
+candle held low down failed to reveal anything else in the hole. There
+was a good deal of débris at the bottom, and the depth was now over four
+feet. To reach to its full extent he was compelled to jam his head and
+shoulders into the excavation and feel blindly with one hand, so he
+rightly concluded that a final examination might be left until daylight.
+
+By this time he was hot and covered with dirt. He stripped, washed
+himself in front of the fire, and changed into his new clothes.
+
+He did not possess a looking-glass, but he felt sure that he presented a
+remarkably different appearance when attired in a neat serge suit, a
+clean shirt and reputable boots. His first impulse was to thrust his
+discarded garments into the fire, but sentiment prevailed, and he folded
+them into a parcel.
+
+Then he extinguished his candle and went out. To his exceeding surprise
+he discovered that it was nearly nine o'clock--time had indeed flown.
+
+The shops in the Mile End Road open early and close late. He entered a
+restaurant where he was unknown, passing, as a matter of policy, the
+coffee stall of his kindly helper of those former days now so remote in
+his crowded memories. After eating a hearty meal, for which he was
+thoroughly prepared, he tendered a sovereign in payment.
+
+The proprietor barely glanced at him. Philip was now well dressed,
+according to local ideas, and his strong, erect figure, his resolute
+face, added two or three years to his age when contrasted with the puny
+standard of fifteen as set by the poverty-stricken East End.
+
+He had forgotten to buy a necktie and a new pair of stockings. These
+omissions he now rectified, and he also purchased a warm, dark-gray
+traveling rug, several yards of drugget, a ball of twine and a pair of
+scissors. A couple of stout but worn leather portmanteaux caught his
+eye.
+
+"Those are cheap," said the salesman, quickly, "only fifteen shillings
+each."
+
+"I'm not sure I can afford so much," said Philip, hesitatingly, for the
+rug alone cost one pound six shillings.
+
+"They're a rare bargain--real leather--they were never made under three
+pounds each."
+
+"Oh, very well. I will take them."
+
+He produced three pounds, got his change, and walked away with his goods
+without causing any wonderment. The shopman was only too glad to have
+such a customer at that late hour.
+
+Philip now knew that he was fairly safe, but he decided that a
+billy-cock hat gave him a more mature appearance than a cap. This
+alteration being effected, he hurried off to Johnson's Mews and
+re-entered his domicile without incident worthy of note.
+
+Very quickly, with the help of drugget, scissors and twine, the two
+small portmanteaux were packed with pieces of the meteor, and the
+paper-covered parcels already prepared. When each bag weighed about
+forty pounds he stuffed the remaining space with rolled-up newspapers,
+closed and locked them. He estimated that three larger leather
+bags--these being less noisy than tin--would hold the remainder of the
+meteor.
+
+As the next morning would find him occupation enough, he decided to do
+as much as possible that night. Three times he sallied forth and
+returned with a good-sized valise. He paid prices varying from two
+pounds ten shillings to three pounds fifteen shillings, and always
+bought secondhand goods.
+
+He had locked and strapped the fourth of his goodly array of traveling
+bags when he fancied he heard a footstep in the mews. Such an occurrence
+would have troubled him not a jot a week ago. To-night it was extremely
+disconcerting.
+
+Notwithstanding the weight of the packed portmanteaux, especially the
+larger one, he lifted each bodily in his arms and ran with it into the
+tiny scullery. On the front window there was no blind, only a small,
+much-worn curtain covering the lower panes, and he did not want any
+stray loafer to gaze in at him and discover a large quantity of luggage
+in such a disreputable hovel.
+
+When the fourth bag was disposed of in the dark recess of the scullery
+he paused for an instant to listen. There was not a sound. Through the
+window he could dimly discern the roof of the deserted stables opposite.
+
+He bent again to the task of packing the fifth portmanteau, and was
+placing in it the last parcel of ore and diamonds when some of the heavy
+contents fell through one end where the drugget wrapping had been
+hastily folded.
+
+Shaking the package on the floor as a grocer beats down the contents of
+a sugar bag, he picked up the fallen specimens and put them in, one by
+one. A large lump of ore had fallen apart when it dropped. Inside there
+was a huge kernel, a rough diamond quite as large as a hen's egg.
+
+Philip smiled as he recalled his boast to Isaacstein. He examined the
+stone critically, and realized that if it were flawless it must be one
+of the marvels of creation. Without experiencing any positive motive he
+slipped this unique specimen into his pocket, and went on with the
+reconstruction of the damaged parcel.
+
+At last he finished. The portmanteau was lying open on the floor, when
+the thought occurred to him that he might have avoided the flurry and
+trouble of carrying these heavy articles into the scullery if he had
+nailed a couple of yards of his drugget across the window.
+
+It was not too late even now to rectify this defect. He glanced at the
+window to ascertain how much material he should cut off, and saw a
+face--an evil, brutal, suspicious face--peering at him over the top of
+the curtain.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX.
+
+_A Decisive Battle._
+
+
+It would be idle to deny that Philip was startled by the sight. No
+braver or more resolute boy breathed; but the silence, the mystery--the
+gloomy aloofness of Johnson's Mews--lent a sinister aspect to an
+apparition formidable enough under any circumstances, but absolutely
+threatening and full of danger to one situated as he at that moment.
+
+He never remembered seeing the man before. Not that this repellent
+physiognomy was of a type to be soon forgotten. A bullet head with
+prominent, blood-shot eyes, a strong, cruel mouth, a huge nose badly
+broken--a certain strength of character in features debased by drink and
+criminality--these were the tokens writ legibly on the countenance
+glaring intently at the boy from without.
+
+The two gazed at each other for an appreciable time. The man's face
+wandered from Philip's face to his costume, and then rested on the open
+portmanteau at the boy's feet. There was in his expression an air of
+astonishment--a certain gloating bewilderment--as of one who had
+stumbled unawares upon some object of such potential value that the
+finder could hardly believe it to be true. He was thinking, wondering,
+debating with himself. The goggle eyes seemed to see more than the brain
+was inclined to credit.
+
+Philip, despite his alarm, felt that the right course was to resent this
+impertinent prying into his affairs.
+
+"Hello, you!" he shouted. "What do you want?"
+
+The man grinned. He seemed to be about to answer when he suddenly turned
+his head and looked down the yard toward the entry.
+
+Instantly he swung round and vanished noiselessly, with the silent
+alertness of a cat, for the boy heard no sound. He simply disappeared in
+the darkness, and Philip, who knew every inch of the ground, realized
+that his most unpleasant-visaged spy had not only dived into the further
+obscurity of the mews--which formed a _cul-de-sac_--but also was either
+in his stocking feet or wore something over his boots to deaden any
+possible clatter on the paving stones.
+
+Here was a nice thing--his habitat discovered by some tramp or criminal
+skulking in the untenanted building marked out for the housebreakers
+within a few days. It was too bad. He was sorely annoyed that he had not
+thought sooner of the potentialities of the window when the interior of
+the house was illumined by a candle and a ruddy fire. How long had the
+man stood there watching him? He had certainly seen some portion of the
+contents of the last portmanteau. Had he also witnessed the removal of
+the others to the pantry?
+
+Philip's experience as a newspaper vender told him that all London was
+now familiar with his own personal appearance, as well as with the
+semblance and value of his meteoric diamonds. The white stones, the
+clumps of iron ore, had been described minutely by clever journalists,
+who supplemented Isaacstein's clear statement by facts gleaned from
+encyclopediæ and interviews with geologists.
+
+Most probably this man had read long articles about him, for the story
+was such as to bring watery curses to the lips of every penniless
+vagrant in the kingdom. Indeed, the careful scrutiny bestowed on his
+face and clothes bore out this suspicion. Had he not changed his
+garments the stranger would have known his identity beyond all question.
+As it was, the man was puzzled, and disturbed at the very moment he was
+about to say something. What had happened to cause him to run away? What
+had he seen or heard? Above all, how much did he know of Philip and his
+affairs?
+
+Well, the door was locked, and it would be folly to go out again that
+night. The house was absolutely unapproachable save by the front. Philip
+resolved to remain awake until daybreak. O'Brien's spade stood against
+the fireplace. It was a formidable weapon, and he would not hesitate to
+use it if forcible entry was attempted. He must sit quietly in the dark,
+listening for each sound, and threatening boldly when he heard anyone
+endeavoring to open door or window.
+
+He sighed, for he was very tired, but the vigil was imperative.
+
+He dropped the drugget and scissors and bent again over the portmanteau.
+The packing operations might as well be finished now, and, indeed, when
+the light was extinguished, it would be better to keep away from the
+window, through which a sudden thrust with an implement might do him an
+injury.
+
+He took his discarded clothes and arranged them on top of the last
+parcels of ore and diamonds. Then he reached out for the small bundle of
+documents resting on the chair behind him, intending to place them in a
+little pocket in the flap which already covered one-half of the bag.
+
+At that instant he again heard footsteps. Of course, a very few seconds
+had elapsed since he first caught sight of the living specter without.
+The ideas recorded at such length whirled through his active brain with
+lightning speed, just as the knowledge now came that the footsteps
+proceeded from the entrance to the mews and not from its extremity,
+while their firm regularity betokened the advent of some person who had
+no special reason to conceal his movements.
+
+The boy listened breathlessly. The oncomer reached his door, passed it,
+stopped opposite the window, and then another face peered over the
+curtain.
+
+This time it was a policeman.
+
+For an instant their eyes met in mutual astonishment. Then the policeman
+came so close that his helmet rested against a pane of glass. He grinned
+affably, and cried:
+
+"Here! I want to speak to you."
+
+Intuitively grasping the essential fact that his best policy was one of
+ready acquiescence, Philip sprang toward the door and unlocked it. He
+stood on the step. The constable approached.
+
+"I hope I didn't startle you," he began, "but I just looked in on the
+off chance----"
+
+"I am very glad indeed, to see you," interrupted the boy. "I am leaving
+here to-morrow. Just now, while I was packing some of my belongings, a
+very nasty-looking man came and peeped in at me in the same way as you
+did."
+
+He backed into the house. The policeman half followed him, his quick
+glance noting the open portmanteau and its array of old clothes.
+
+"Just now?" he questioned. "Do you mean some time since?"
+
+"No, no. Not half a minute--a few seconds ago."
+
+"But where can he be? He hasn't left the mews, or I must have seen him.
+I crossed the road, and no one came out in so short a time."
+
+"Well, he is somewhere in the place--he had a horrid appearance--a man
+with a broken nose. He made me jump, I can assure you."
+
+"A man with a broken nose! By Jove, I'm looking for a party of that
+description. A rank wrong 'un. Robbery with violence and a few other
+little things. What sort of man was he? You saw his face only, I
+suppose?"
+
+The constable stepped back into the paved court. A rapid twist of his
+hand sent a vivid beam of light dancing over ruined tenements,
+disheveled doorways and shattered windows.
+
+"A tall man," said Philip, "taller than you, for I could see his chin
+over the string of the curtain. He had a big face, with eyes that stuck
+out boldly----"
+
+"By the Lord, it's Jocky right enough!" cried the constable. "Now, where
+can he have got to? He's an ugly customer to tackle single-handed," he
+added, beneath his breath.
+
+"Won't you wait a bit, until I get some help?" said Philip, anxiously.
+
+The man appeared to debate the point. The nearest comrade was an acting
+sergeant, newly promoted. If he were summoned, the kudos of a smart
+capture would be his by right of seniority.
+
+"No," announced the constable, stubbornly. "If he is here, I will handle
+him myself."
+
+Again his lamp swept the small area of the mews and revealed no living
+object. He quickly unfastened his belt, took off his greatcoat, and
+readjusted belt and lamp again.
+
+"Now I'm ready for him," he grinned. "Put my coat inside, boy, and stand
+at the door yourself with the candle in your hand. If you see anything,
+yell out to me."
+
+Philip obeyed. These preparations for a deadly struggle appealed to his
+very soul, for your healthy-minded boy of fifteen has generally ceased
+to be a highwayman or a pirate in imagination, and aims rather at
+planting the Union Jack on a glacis bristling with hostile cannon.
+
+The policeman, feeling for the loose strap of his truncheon, commenced a
+careful survey of the mews. He had not gone five yards when there was a
+loud crash of broken glass. The building at the other end of the yard
+possessed a couple of windows facing into another inclosure at the back.
+Obviously, the broken-nosed "Jocky," unseen himself, had observed the
+constable's movements.
+
+Realizing that discovery was imminent, he was effecting a strategic
+movement to the rear.
+
+The policeman instantly abandoned his cautious tactics. He ran toward
+the door of the house whence the sound came. It resisted somewhat, but
+yielded to his shoulder. He disappeared inside. Philip, after closing
+his own door, also ran to the new center of interest, shielding the
+candle with one hand lest it should blow out.
+
+Quick as he was, he missed the first phase of a Homeric combat. The
+violent "Jocky," foiled by an unnoticed iron bar in his attempt to
+escape, turned like a madman on the policeman. There was no sort of
+parley between them. Cursing the luck that had revealed his hiding
+place, the man, an ex-convict, with the frame of a giant, sprang at his
+pursuer suddenly from an inner room.
+
+The policeman had a second's warning. It was something, but not enough
+to give him an advantage. He got his truncheon out, but simultaneously
+his assailant was on him with the ferocity of a catamount. They closed
+in bone-breaking endeavor, and before they were locked together for ten
+fearful seconds the officer of the law bitterly regretted the
+professional pride which sent him single-handed into this unequal
+strife.
+
+For he was physically outclassed, and he knew it, and there is no more
+unnerving knowledge can come to a man in such a supreme moment.
+Nevertheless, he was a brave man, and he fought with all the resolution
+that is born of the consciousness of justice and moral right. But
+Providence is on the side of big battalions, and "Jocky" was taller,
+heavier, very much more active. Moreover, liberty is as potent an
+incentive as law any day, and law was being steadily throttled when the
+pale gleam of Philip's candle lit up the confines of the ruinous hovel
+about which the two men stamped and lurched and wrestled.
+
+At the precise moment of the boy's entrance the policeman's knees
+yielded and he fell, with his remorseless antagonist uppermost. Philip,
+gazing at them wide-eyed, almost fell too, for his left foot rolled on
+the constable's staff.
+
+Being fashioned of the stuff which founds empires--on the principle
+that instant action is worth a century of diplomacy--he picked up the
+truncheon and brought it down on "Jocky's" hard skull with such emphasis
+that the convict emitted a queer sort of cough, and collapsed limply on
+top of his conquered adversary.
+
+Then the boy was horrified. The two lay so still that he imagined both
+were dead. It is one thing to help the law, but quite another to kill a
+man. He did not want to be a murderer as well as a millionaire, not
+knowing then the qualities which go to form these varieties of the
+_genus homo_ are strangely alike.
+
+He gazed at them as in a trance, but relief came when he heard them
+breathing stertorously. At last, after a pause that apparently endured
+unnumbered minutes, the constable weakly rolled himself free from the
+bulky form of his would-be slayer, and sat up.
+
+He inflated his lungs vigorously. Then he managed to gasp:
+
+"Thank you! You've saved my life!"
+
+He pressed his ribs with both hands and gingerly felt his throat. He
+stood up. His lamp was still alight, but a quantity of oil had run over
+his tunic and trousers.
+
+"By Jove, boy, you are a brick," he said, and his voice was under
+control again.
+
+Philip answered not a word; his eyes were glued on the prostrate form of
+Jocky. The policeman understood his fear, and laughed.
+
+"Don't you worry about him. He'll do a stretch all right. I would have
+given him a harder one than that if I got a swing at him."
+
+His words were quickly justified. The fallen man yowled unintelligibly
+and moved. With a rapidity born of much practice the officer handcuffed
+him. There must have been some sense of familiarity in the touch of the
+steel bracelets, for the recipient of this delicate attention stirred
+uneasily.
+
+"You knocked him silly," grinned the policeman, "but he will get his
+wits back in a minute or two. Can you bring him a drink of water? It
+won't do me any harm, either."
+
+Philip hurried away to comply with this request. His mind was relieved
+now, and with the backward swing of the mental pendulum came the
+reflection that the least said of his connection with the case the
+better.
+
+He filled a small tin at the scullery tap and ran with it to the scene
+of the capture. The constable was gently shaking his prize and
+addressing him by name.
+
+"Jocky! Jocky Mason! Pull yourself together. This way for the Old
+Bailey!"
+
+"If you please," said Philip, "I would be very greatly obliged were my
+name not mentioned at all with reference to this affair."
+
+The policeman, whose senses were normal again, was instantly impressed
+by the boy's grand manner. His accent was that of the men of the
+University Mission. And how many boys of his age would have struck so
+straight and truly at a critical moment?
+
+"Well, don't you see, that will be rather difficult," was the answer.
+"It was you who told me where he was, and the man himself knows that
+without somebody's help I could not have arrested him. There is no need
+to mince matters. I have you to thank for not being laid here stiff."
+
+Philip said no more. To press his request implied a powerful motive.
+The stars in their courses must have conspired that day to supply him
+with excitement.
+
+Mason eagerly gulped the water held to his lips. Then he tried to raise
+his right hand to his head. Ah! He understood. A flood of oaths began to
+meander thickly from his mouth.
+
+"That's better," said the constable, encouragingly. "Now, up you get!
+It's no use, Jocky. I won't let you kick me. You must either go quietly
+or I will drag you to the street over the stones, and that will hurt."
+
+The man glared dully at his captor. With the apathy of his class he knew
+when he was beaten, and became submissive in demeanor. Philip, holding
+his candle aloft, marveled at his own temerity in hitting this giant,
+oxlike in size and strength.
+
+Mason wobbled his head and craned his neck awkwardly.
+
+"Oo gev me that crack on the nut?" he asked.
+
+"The roof dropped," was the jocular reply.
+
+"Not it. I 'ad yer dahn, Sailor. I was on yer afore ye could use yer
+stick. Ye was fairly bested until somebody ahted me wiv a welt on the
+skylight."
+
+"Never mind, Jocky. It'll hurt you to think just now. Come on."
+
+But the ex-convict became sensible of the unwonted light in the deserted
+house, and slowly turned his head until his glance rested on Philip.
+
+"Why!" he roared, with an imprecation, "that's the bloomin' kid 'oo
+found the di-monds. I seed 'im a-countin' of 'em. White stones, the
+paper said, an' bits of iron, too. A trunk full of 'em. 'E 'as one in
+'is pocket as big as an egg."
+
+The policeman laughed. So did Philip, shrilly, with ready acceptance of
+the cue.
+
+"Come along, Jocky, you're wool-gathering. I'll get you a pint of coffee
+at the station just to show there's no malice," said the constable.
+
+"The water was too strong for him," put in Philip.
+
+The ex-convict began to protest, but he wasted words in swearing. The
+"Sailor" grasped him by the arm and marched him down the yard, saying
+over his shoulder:
+
+"Pull that door to. I'll come back for my coat in half an hour."
+
+Philip followed, but in a sea of perplexity. He heard Mason's frantic
+expostulations to the policeman--what was an extra stripe to the loss of
+untold wealth--that youngster was richer than Rothschild, the papers
+said--the small lot he showed in the police court were worth fifty
+thousand pounds--and he had tons more.
+
+It was all of no avail. Certainly the constable had never heard such
+queer reasons advanced for stopping an arrest, but Mason was obviously
+dazed for the time--maundering about the story which everybody talked
+of. He would change his tune when he learned to whom he was indebted for
+his capture.
+
+The boy walked behind them mechanically, shading the candle with his
+hand. He was so absorbed with his tumultuous thoughts that the first
+indication he received of anything bizarre in his appearance was the
+giggling of a girl who saw him standing in the arch of the mews
+carefully shielding the flickering wick.
+
+He blew it out. A clock in the small jeweler's shop opposite showed the
+time--ten minutes past eleven. In that part of London, a busy hive of
+men and women of the working class, he had no chance of removing his
+belongings before the policeman returned.
+
+What would happen if the friendly constable believed Jocky Mason's
+excited statements? True, Philip had no reason to fear the law. But with
+exposure might come other troubles. Would anyone advance a claim to his
+meteor? Mr. Abingdon hinted at such a thing. He paid no rent for his
+house; he might be turned out instantly--refused permission to remove
+anything except his few unsalable household goods.
+
+Assuredly he was in an awkward predicament. Of course, there was a
+chance that the policeman would continue to laugh at the convict's
+folly. If he did not, there would certainly be complications. Could he
+avoid them by any means? Where was there a safe hiding place for his
+diamonds until next day? Would mother inspire him again as she had not
+failed to do during so many strange events? Would her spirit guide his
+footsteps across this new quicksand on whose verge he hesitated?
+
+A few doors to the left was O'Brien's shop. The old man crept into
+sight, staggering under the weight of a shutter. Good gracious! Why had
+he not thought of this ally sooner? Some precious minutes were wasted
+already.
+
+"Arrah, Phil, phwat in the worruld----"
+
+"Wait just the least bit, Mr. O'Brien. I have some portmanteaux that I
+want to store for the night. Do let me put them at the back of your
+shop. My place is not very safe, you know."
+
+"Sure, boy, that's a shmall thing to ax. Bring 'em, an' welcome."
+
+With the speed of a deer Philip dived into the mews. He carried the two
+lesser bags without extraordinary difficulty, and deposited them behind
+O'Brien's counter. The third was almost too much for him, as the weight
+was all in one hand. But he got it there, breathless with the exertion.
+
+He had to open the fourth and tear out the stuffing of paper. When
+filled with the packages taken from the fifth it was beyond his power to
+lift it. So he dragged it bodily along the mews and into the shop.
+
+A passer-by offered to help him.
+
+"No, thanks," he managed to say, though the effort to speak calmly took
+away his remaining breath. "I am only taking it to the shop there."
+
+The man glanced at the shop--it was a marine store dealer's--a place
+where lead and iron and brass found ready sale. He passed on.
+
+"Be the forchun uv war, Phil, where did ye get the iligant leather
+thrunks, an' phwat's in them?" inquired the astonished pensioner.
+
+The boy bravely called a smile to his aid. "I have a big story to tell
+you one of these days, Mr. O'Brien, but I have no time to-night. These
+things will not be in your way until the morning?"
+
+"The divil a bit. If things go on as they are, there'll soon be room
+enough in the poor ould shop. To think, afther all these years, that a
+murtherin' thief in the War Office----"
+
+Philip was safe. He rapidly helped his friend to put up the shutters,
+and rushed back to No. 3. Even yet he was not quite prepared for
+eventualities. He ran upstairs and gathered a few articles belonging to
+his mother, articles he never endeavored to sell even when pinched by
+hunger.
+
+The last dress she wore, her boots, a hat, an album with photographs,
+some toilet accessories from the tiny dressing table, the coverlet of
+the bed on which she died--these and kindred mementoes made a very
+credible bulk in the denuded portmanteau.
+
+He gave one glance at the hole in the back yard as he went to the coal
+house for a fresh supply of coal. That must remain. It probably would
+not be seen. In any case it remained inexplicable.
+
+He was stirring the fire when a tap sounded on the door and the
+policeman entered, followed by an inspector.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X.
+
+_A Step Higher._
+
+
+"This is the boy, sir," said the policeman.
+
+"Oh, is that him?" observed the inspector, sticking his thumbs into his
+belt and gazing at Philip with professional severity.
+
+Philip met their scrutiny without flinching. He leaned against the wall
+with his hands in his pockets, one fist clinched over the pouchful of
+gold, the other guarding a diamond bigger than the Koh-i-Noor.
+
+"I am sorry I have only one chair, gentlemen," he said, apologetically.
+
+"That's all right, my lad," said the inspector. "The constable here
+tells me that you very pluckily helped him to capture a notorious
+burglar. The man was hiding in this mews, and it seems you first saw him
+looking in through your window. What were you doing at the time?"
+
+"Packing my portmanteau."
+
+"Oh, packing your portmanteau."
+
+"Yes. That is it."
+
+He stooped and nonchalantly threw it open. His clothes and boots, and
+some of the other contents, were exposed to view. The inspector laughed.
+
+"Not many diamonds there, Bradley."
+
+"No, sir. I told you Mason was talking rubbish."
+
+"Did he say any more about me being the boy who found the meteor?" asked
+Philip, with a first-rate attempt at a grin.
+
+"Wouldn't talk of anything else," volunteered P. C. Bradley.
+
+"Judging by the way he dropped when I hit him, I expect he saw stars,"
+said Philip.
+
+"Are you leaving here?" asked the inspector.
+
+"Yes, I must. The company which owns these premises intends to pull them
+down on the first of next month."
+
+"What is your name?"
+
+"Anson."
+
+"Ah! I think I remember hearing something about your mother's death.
+Very nice woman, I was told. A lady, too."
+
+"Yes, all that, and more."
+
+"Of course, that accounts for your manners and appearance. Have you
+found some friends?"
+
+The inspector's glance roved from the serviceable portmanteau to
+Philip's tidy garments, and it was his business to make rapid
+deductions.
+
+"Yes, most fortunately."
+
+"Anybody connected with Sharpe & Smith?" the constable put in.
+
+"Sharpe & Smith! Who are they?"
+
+"Don't you know? Their young man certainly didn't seem to know much
+about your movements. He has been here twice looking for you. The first
+time was, let me see, last Monday, about four o'clock. I was on duty in
+the main road, and he asked me for some information. We came and looked
+in, but your door was locked. The man on this beat this afternoon told
+me that the same clerk was making further inquiries to-day, so as soon
+as I came on night duty I strolled into the mews to find out if you
+were at home. That is how I happened to see you."
+
+He turned toward the inspector.
+
+"He was packing his bag at the moment, sir, and Mason had evidently been
+scared from the window by my footsteps in the arch."
+
+The inspector pursed out his under lip.
+
+"The whole thing is perfectly clear," he said. "Boy, have you got a
+watch?"
+
+"No," said Philip, surprised by this odd question.
+
+"Bradley, he hasn't got a watch," observed the inspector. He again
+addressed Philip.
+
+"Where are you going to-morrow?"
+
+"I am not quite sure, but my address will be known to Mrs. Wrigley, the
+James Street Laundry, Shepherd's Bush."
+
+"Ah! The constable says you do not wish to be mixed up in the arrest of
+Mason. There is no need for you to appear in court, but--er--in such
+cases as yours, the--er--police like to show their--er--appreciation of
+your services. That is so, Bradley, isn't it?"
+
+"Yes, sir. If it hadn't been for him, I shouldn't be here now. Jocky had
+me fairly cornered."
+
+"You had no time to summon assistance?"
+
+"I barely heard he was here, before the window was smashed, and I knew
+he was trying to get out the other way. You heard him, Anson?"
+
+Philip looked the policeman squarely in the eyes.
+
+"You had just taken off your greatcoat when the glass cracked," he said.
+
+Police Constable Bradley stooped to pick up his coat. He did not wish
+this portion of the night's proceedings to be described too minutely. In
+moving the garment he disturbed the packet of letters. Instantly Philip
+recalled the names of the solicitors mentioned by the constable.
+
+"You said that a clerk from Messrs. Sharpe & Smith called here twice?"
+he asked.
+
+"Yes."
+
+He picked out one of the letters, opened it, and made certain of his
+facts before he cried, angrily:
+
+"Then I want to have nothing whatever to do with them. They treated my
+mother shamefully."
+
+The inspector had sharp eyes.
+
+"What is the date of that letter?" he inquired.
+
+"January 18th of this year."
+
+"And what are those--pawn tickets?"
+
+"Yes, some of my mother's jewelry and dresses. Her wedding ring was the
+last to go. Most of them are out of date, but I intend to--I will try to
+save some of them, especially her wedding ring."
+
+Jocky Mason's romance was now dissipated into thin air. The contents of
+the portmanteau, the squalid appearance of the house, the date of the
+solicitor's letter, the bundle of pawn tickets, offered conclusive
+evidence to the inspector's matter-of-fact mind that the ex-convict's
+story was the effect of a truncheon rapidly applied to a brain excited
+by the newspaper comments on a sensational yarn about some boy who had
+found a parcel of diamonds.
+
+This youngster had not been favored by any such extraordinary piece of
+luck. Simple chance had led him to put the police on the track of a
+much-wanted scoundrel, and he had very bravely prevented a member of the
+force from being badly worsted in the ensuing encounter.
+
+A subscription would be made among the officers and men of the division,
+and they would give him a silver watch, with a suitable inscription.
+
+The inspector noted the address given by Philip. It was on the tip of
+his tongue to ask his Christian name, when the constable suggested that
+they should examine the stable in which Mason had hidden.
+
+They went up the mews. Philip locked his door, extinguished the candle,
+and lay down on the mattress, fully dressed, with his newly bought rug
+for covering.
+
+He was so utterly tired, so exhausted physically and mentally by the
+_sturm und drang_ of this eventful day, that he was sound asleep when
+the two men returned.
+
+They saw him through the window.
+
+"He's a fine lad," said the inspector, thoughtfully. "I wonder what he
+is going to make of himself. We might have asked him who his friends
+were, but they are not badly off, or he couldn't have got that bag and
+his new clothes. What on earth caused Mason to connect him with that
+diamond story?"
+
+"It's hard to say," observed the constable.
+
+"I will look round and have a chat with him in the morning. Poor, little
+chap! He's sleeping like a top now."
+
+The inspector called at No. 3, Johnson's Mews, soon after ten next
+morning, but the door was locked and the bird flown. He spoke to Mason
+after that worthy was remanded for a week, but a night's painful
+seclusion had sealed the burglar's lips. He vowed, with fearful
+emphasis, to "get even" with the kid who "ahted" him, for the
+policeman's evidence had revealed the truth concerning the arrest. But
+not another word would Mason say about the diamonds, and for a little
+while the inspector placed his overnight revelations in the category of
+myths familiar to the police in their daily dealings with criminals.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Philip awoke shortly before seven.
+
+He was cold and stiff. The weather was chilly, and there was no ardent
+meteor in the back yard to keep the temperature of the house at a
+grateful point during the night.
+
+But his active, young frame quickly dissipated the effects of a deep
+sleep on a draughty floor. He washed his face and hands at the sink in
+the scullery, and his next thought was for breakfast, a proof, if proof
+were needed, that he arose refreshed in mind and body.
+
+In the Mile End Road there are plenty of early morning restaurants. At
+one of them he made a substantial meal, and, on his return to the mews,
+he lost not a moment in carrying out a systematic search through all
+parts of the house and yard for any traces of the meteor which might
+have escaped his ken in the darkness.
+
+Amidst the earth and broken stones of the excavation there were a few
+fragments of ore and some atomic specimens of the diamantiferous
+material--not sufficient, all told, to fill the palm of his hand. But he
+gathered them for obvious reasons, and then devoted five vigorous
+minutes with O'Brien's spade to the task of filling up the deep hole
+itself.
+
+By lowering the flagstones and breaking the earth beneath, he soon gave
+the small yard an appearance of chaos which might certainly puzzle
+people, but which would afford no possible clew to the nature of the
+disturbing element.
+
+At best they might imagine that the dread evidence of some weird crime
+lay in the broken area. If so, they could dig until they were tired.
+But, indeed, he was now guarding against a most unlikely hypothesis. The
+probability was that Johnson's Mews would soon cease to exist and become
+almost as fabulous as the Island of Atlantis.
+
+Moreover, he had a project dimly outlined in his mind which might become
+definite if all went well with him that day. Then the ownership of No.
+3, Johnson's Mews, would cease to trouble him, for Philip was quite sure
+the whole power of the law would be invoked to prevent him from dealing
+with his meteor if once the exact place where it fell became publicly
+known.
+
+O'Brien's shop was scarcely open before Philip was there with his
+remaining portmanteau.
+
+"Arrah, Phil, me bhoy, where in the name of goodness are ye gatherin'
+the bee-utiful, leather thrunks from?" asked the pensioner.
+
+"This is the last one," laughed the boy. "I am off now to find a cab,
+and you won't see me again until Monday."
+
+"Faix, he's a wonderful lad entirely," commented the old man. "What sort
+of plundher has he in the bags, at all at all?"
+
+In idle curiosity he lifted the last addition to the pile. It was
+normal, even light in weight. Then he nodded knowingly.
+
+"A lot of ould duds belongin' to Mrs. Anson, I'll be boun'. Ah, well,
+the Lord rest her sowl, 'tis she was the fine woman. I wish I had some
+one as cliver as her to write for me to that thafe of the worruld who
+thried----"
+
+As there are no signs in the art of literature similar to those which
+serve the needs of musicians, whereby thoughts can be expressed _da
+capo_, like a musical phrase, without risk of wearying the reader, it
+must be understood that Philip had returned from far-away Fenchurch
+Street Station with a four-wheeler before O'Brien exhausted the first
+tirade of the day against the War Office.
+
+With a cunning that amounted to genius, the boy placed the large, light
+portmanteau and the two small, heavy ones on the roof of the vehicle,
+where the driver did not notice the least peculiarity in their weight.
+
+The two large, heavy bags he managed to lift into the interior, one of
+them needing all his resources to carry it from the shop door to the
+cab. Were he not fresh and untired, he could not have done it. As it
+was, the effort was a splendid success.
+
+The cabman knew little, and O'Brien less, of the tremendous avoirdupois
+of this innocent-looking baggage. A long-suffering horse may have had
+his private views, but he did not express them.
+
+Saying good-by to the pensioner in the shop, Philip took good care that
+none overheard his direction to the driver. In about three-quarters of
+an hour he lumbered into Charing Cross Station without a soul in the
+East End being aware of his destination.
+
+"Where to, sir?" asked a porter who opened the door for him.
+
+"I only want these bags to be taken to the luggage room," said Philip.
+"You had better get some one to help you with these two. They are very
+heavy. They contain specimens of iron ore."
+
+The man took a pull at the solid one.
+
+"By gum," he grinned. "You're right. That would surprise anybody who
+tried to pick it up and run away with it."
+
+"Rather," agreed Philip. "I am glad to say it is not going very
+far--only to a laboratory for analysis."
+
+He saw his belongings wheeled away on a barrow before he paid the cabman
+liberally. He only gave the porter sixpence. The man believed that
+Philip was a clerk in charge of the minerals; he was grateful for even
+so small a sum.
+
+On leaving the station, with the receipt for his luggage in his pocket,
+Philip saw the four-wheeler turning into the Strand, on its way back to
+Fenchurch Street. He smiled. The tie between East and West was severed.
+No matter what else might happen to it, his meteor had left Johnson's
+Mews forever.
+
+It was now a few minutes past nine, but he still had a good deal to do
+before he presented himself at Isaacstein's at eleven.
+
+It was necessary to change his skin once more before the metamorphosis
+he contemplated was complete. He was acquainted with a large outfitting
+emporium in Ludgate Hill which exactly suited his requirements, so he
+rode thither on a 'bus.
+
+Passing Somerset House, he recalled the Jew's remark about getting his
+letter "stamped." He did not know what stamping meant in a legal sense,
+but he guessed that it implied the affixing of a seal of some sort.
+There was no need to hurry over it, he thought.
+
+At eleven o'clock Isaacstein would either keep his word about the five
+thousand pounds or endeavor to wriggle out of the compact. In either
+event, Philip had already determined to consult Mr. Abingdon.
+
+He had now in his pocket about thirty-eight pounds. Half an hour later
+he was wearing a new tweed suit, new hat and new boots; he had acquired
+a stock of linen and underclothing, an umbrella and an overcoat. Some of
+these articles, together with his discarded clothes, were packed in two
+new, leather portmanteaux, on which his initials would be painted by
+noon, when he would call for them.
+
+He paid twenty-six pounds for the lot, and the man who waited on him
+tried in vain to tempt him to spend more. Philip knew exactly what he
+wanted. He adhered to his program. He possessed sufficient genuine
+luggage and clothing to be presentable anywhere. He had enough money to
+maintain himself for weeks if necessary. For the rest, another couple of
+hours would place it beyond doubt whether he was a millionaire or not;
+for, if Isaacstein failed him, London was big enough and wealthy enough
+to quickly decide that point.
+
+He entered the Hatton Garden office as the clocks struck the hour.
+
+Some boys of his age might have experienced a malicious delight when the
+youthful Israelite on guard bounced up with a smirk and a ready:
+
+"Yessir. Vat iss it, sir?"
+
+Not so Philip. He simply asked for Mr. Isaacstein, but he certainly
+could not help smiling at the expression of utter amazement when his
+identity dawned on his hearer.
+
+The "Yessir, vil you blease valk in," was very faint, though; the
+office boy ushered him upstairs as one in a dream, for he had been
+warned to expect Philip, a Philip in rags, not a smart, young gentleman
+like a bank clerk.
+
+Isaacstein on this occasion looked and acted the sound man of business
+he really was.
+
+He awaited Philip in his private office. He seemed to be pleased by the
+change effected in the boy's outward appearance. There was less of
+burlesque, less outrage to his feelings, in discussing big sums of money
+with a person properly attired than with one who wore the garments of a
+tramp.
+
+"Good-morning," he said, pleasantly. "You are punctual, I am glad to
+see. Have you been to Somerset House?"
+
+"No," said Philip.
+
+"Why not? If you are going to control a big capital, you must learn
+business habits or you will lose it, no matter how large it may be."
+
+"Would Somerset House compel you to pay me, Mr. Isaacstein?"
+
+"Not exactly, but the stamping of important documents is a means toward
+an end, I assure you."
+
+"I will see to it, but I wanted primarily to be certain of one of two
+things: First, will you pay the five thousand pounds as promised?
+Second, will you give me a fresh purchase note for my diamonds which
+will not indicate so definitely that I am the boy concerning whom there
+has been so much needless publicity during the last few days?"
+
+It was of no avail for Isaacstein to bandy words with Philip. A boy of
+fifteen who casually introduced such a word as "primarily" into a
+sentence, and gave a shrewd thrust about "needless publicity" to the
+person responsible for it, was not to be browbeaten, even in business
+affairs.
+
+The Jew whipped out a check book.
+
+"Am I to make out a check for five thousand pounds to 'Philip'?" he
+asked.
+
+"No; to Philip Anson, please."
+
+"Thank you; and now, shall I put any address on the contract note which
+I will hand you?"
+
+"The Pall Mall Hotel."
+
+Isaacstein with difficulty choked back a comment. The Pall Mall Hotel
+was the most expensive establishment in London. He tossed the check and
+another document across the table.
+
+"There you are," he said. "Come with me to my bank. You will excuse the
+hurry. I have a lot to do before I leave for Amsterdam to-night."
+
+Philip saw that the acknowledgment of his diamonds appeared to be in
+proper form.
+
+"There is no need at this moment to explain to the bank manager that I
+am the hero of the police court affair?" he said.
+
+"None whatever. I am lending you the money, and will be paying you a
+good deal more very soon. That will be sufficient. He may draw his own
+conclusions, of course."
+
+Philip was now looking at the check.
+
+"Why do you put 'account payee' between these two strokes?" he said.
+
+The Jew explained, and even found time to show him how to cross and
+indorse such important slips of paper.
+
+Then they walked to the bank, a few doors away. The elderly manager was
+obviously surprised by the size of the check and the youth of the
+"payee."
+
+"Oh, this is nothing--a mere flea bite," said Isaacstein. "In a few days
+he will have ten times the amount to his credit."
+
+"Dear me. Are you realizing property on his behalf?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Well, Mr. Anson," said the manager, pleasantly, "I hope you will take
+care of your money."
+
+"I want you to do that," smiled Philip, who was slightly nonplused by
+the prefix to his name, heard by him for the first time.
+
+"Oh, if you leave it with me it will be quite safe."
+
+"I cannot leave all, but certainly I will not spend five thousand pounds
+in a week. I mean to buy some property, though, and--can I have a
+hundred now?"
+
+"By all means."
+
+Philip wrote his first check and received twenty crisp five-pound notes.
+Isaacstein stood by, smiling grimly. He had not yet got over the
+farcical side of this extraordinary occurrence, and he was wondering
+what the bank manager would have said could he but see Philip as he,
+Isaacstein, saw him no later than the previous day.
+
+"By the way," said Philip, whose heart was beating a little now,
+"suppose I wish to give a reference to anybody, will you two gentlemen
+answer for me?"
+
+"The bank wall always say whether or not your check will be honored to a
+stated amount. In other respects, Mr. Isaacstein, who brought you here,
+will serve your purpose admirably--none better in the city of London,"
+replied the banker.
+
+Isaacstein placed both feet together and his head sank between his
+shoulders. He again reminded Philip of a top. The boy fancied that in a
+second or two he would begin to spin and purr. The bank manager's
+statement flattered the little man. It was the sort of thing he
+understood. Philip privately resolved to make this human top wobble when
+alone with him in the street again.
+
+"One more question, and I have ended," he said. "Where is the best place
+to store some valuables?"
+
+"It all depends on their nature. What are they? Plate, jewels,
+paper----"
+
+The Jew's ears were alert now, and the boy smiled faintly.
+
+"Oh," he explained, "I have a very large quantity of rich ore which I
+wish to lodge in some place where it will be secure and yet easy of
+access."
+
+"I would recommend you to rent a strong-room in the safe deposit across
+the street. There you have absolute security and quick access during
+business hours."
+
+Philip expressed his thanks and quitted the bank with his agent.
+
+In the middle of Holborn, in the midst of the jostling, hurrying
+occupants of one of the busiest thoroughfares in London, he pulled the
+giant diamond out of his pocket and suddenly held it under the Jew's
+nose.
+
+"I told you I had them as big as hen's eggs," he cried. "What do you
+think of this one?"
+
+Isaacstein glanced at it for one fascinated second. Then he looked
+around with the stealthy air of a man who fears lest he may be detected
+in the commission of a terrible crime.
+
+"Are you mad?" he whispered.
+
+"No, not mad," answered Philip, coolly, as he pocketed the gem. "I only
+wanted you to wobble."
+
+"You wanted me to wobble!"
+
+"Yes. You look so like a big top at times. When do we meet again, Mr.
+Isaacstein?"
+
+"You are not going away by yourself with that stone in your pocket?"
+
+"Why not! It attracted no special notice from the people as I came here.
+Nobody can smell it. It won't explode, nor burn a hole in my clothes. It
+is quite safe, I assure you."
+
+"But let me take it to Amsterdam. Boy! boy! It must weigh four hundred
+carats!"
+
+"Enough of business for to-day. I have a lot of things to attend to.
+Shall we say Tuesday?"
+
+"No. Wednesday at eleven. One word. Let me put it in my safe."
+
+"Good-by."
+
+Philip hailed a hansom and drove off to Ludgate Hill, smiling graciously
+at Isaacstein as he whirled away.
+
+The Jew swayed gently through the crowd until he reached the office,
+when he dropped limply into his chair. Then he shouted for his
+confidential clerk.
+
+"Samuel," he murmured, "take charge, please. I'm going home. I want to
+rest before I start for Harwich. And, Samuel!"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"While I am away you might order another scales. In future we will sell
+diamonds by the pound, like potatoes."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI.
+
+_In Clover._
+
+
+After picking up his belongings at the outfitter's, two smart Gladstone
+bags with "P. A." nicely painted on them, Philip stopped his cab at
+Somerset House. He experienced no difficulty in reaching the proper
+department for stamping documents, and thus giving them legal
+significance.
+
+An official glanced at Isaacstein's contract note, and then looked at
+Philip, evidently regarding him as a relative or youthful secretary of
+the "Philip Anson, Esq., Pall Mall Hotel," whose name figured on the
+paper.
+
+"I suppose you only want this to be indicated?" he said.
+
+"Yes," agreed Philip, who had not the remotest idea what he meant.
+
+"Sixpence," was the curt rejoinder.
+
+Philip thought he would be called on to pay many pounds--some amount in
+the nature of a percentage of the sum named in the agreement. He
+produced the coin demanded, and made no comment. With stamp or without,
+he knew that Isaacstein would go straight in this preliminary
+undertaking. A single glimpse of the monster diamond in his pocket had
+made that quite certain.
+
+For the rest, he was rapidly making out a plan which should secure his
+interests effectually. He hoped, before the day was out, to have set on
+foot arrangements which would free him from all anxiety.
+
+From Somerset House he drove to the Pall Mall Hotel. A gigantic hall
+porter, looking like a youthful major-general in undress uniform,
+received him with much ceremony and ushered him to the office, where an
+urbane clerk instantly classed him as the avant courier of an American
+family.
+
+"I want a sitting room and bedroom en suite," said Philip.
+
+"One bedroom?" was the surprised query.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"How many of you are there, then?"
+
+"I beg your pardon?"
+
+"Are you alone?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+The clerk fumbled with the register. Precocious juveniles were not
+unknown to him, but a boy of Philip's type had not hitherto arisen over
+his horizon.
+
+"A sitting room and a bedroom en suite?" he repeated.
+
+"Exactly."
+
+The clerk was disconcerted by Philip's steady gaze.
+
+"On what floor?" he asked.
+
+"Really," said Philip, "I don't know. Suppose you tell me what
+accommodation you have. Then I will decide at once."
+
+The official, who was one of the most skilled hotel clerks in London,
+found it ridiculous to be put out of countenance by a mere boy, who
+could not be a day older than seventeen, and might be a good deal less.
+He cast a critical eye on Philip's clothing, and saw that, while it was
+good, it had not the gloss of Vere de Vere.
+
+He would paralyze him at one fell blow, little dreaming that the other
+read his glance and knew the exact mental process of his reasoning.
+
+"There is a good suite vacant on the first floor, but it contains a
+dressing room and bath room," he said, smiling the smile of a very
+knowing person.
+
+"That sounds all right. I will take it."
+
+"Ah, yes. It costs five pounds a day!"
+
+Each of the six words in that portentous sentence contained a note of
+admiration that swelled out into a magnificent crescendo. It was a
+verbal avalanche, beneath which this queer youth should be crushed into
+the very dust.
+
+"Five pounds a day!" observed Philip, calmly. "I suppose there would be
+a reduction if taken for a month?"
+
+"Well--er--during the season it is not--er--usual to----"
+
+"Oh, very well. I can easily arrange for a permanency later if I think
+fit. What number is the suite, please, and will you kindly have my
+luggage sent there at once?"
+
+The clerk was demoralized, but he managed to say:
+
+"Do you quite understand the terms--thirty-five pounds a week!"
+
+"Yes," said Philip. "Shall I pay you a week in advance? I can give you
+notes, but it will oblige me if you take a check, as I may want the
+ready money in my possession."
+
+Receiving a faint indication that, under the circumstances, a check
+would be esteemed a favor, Philip whipped out his check book, filled in
+a check to the hotel, and did not forget to cross it "ac. payee."
+
+The clerk watched him with an amazement too acute for words. He produced
+the register and Philip signed his name. He was given a receipt for the
+payment on account, and then asked to be shown to his rooms.
+
+A boy smaller, but not younger, than himself--a smart page, who listened
+to the foregoing with deep interest--asked timidly whether the guest
+would go by the stairs or use the elevator.
+
+"I will walk," said Philip, who liked to ascertain his bearings.
+
+The palatial nature of the apartments took him by surprise when he
+reached them. Although far from being the most expensive suite in the
+hotel, the surroundings were of a nature vastly removed from anything
+hitherto known to him.
+
+Even the charming house he inhabited as a child in Dieppe contained no
+such luxury. His portmanteau followed quickly, and a valet entered.
+Philip's quick ears caught the accent of a Frenchman, and the boy spoke
+to the man in the language of his country, pure and undefiled by the
+barbarisms of John Bull.
+
+They were chatting about the weather, which, by the way, ever since the
+nineteenth of March had been extraordinarily fine, when there was a
+knock at the door and the manager entered.
+
+The clerk found the situation too much for him. He had appealed to a
+higher authority.
+
+Even the suave and diplomatic Monsieur Foret could not conceal the
+astonishment that leaped to his eyes when he saw the occupant of Suite
+F.
+
+"I think you will find these rooms very comfortable," he said, for lack
+of aught better. A commissionaire was already on his way to the bank to
+ask if the check was all right.
+
+"Are you the manager?" asked Philip, who was washing his hands.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"I am glad you called. One of your clerks seemed to be taken aback
+because a youngster like me engaged an expensive suite. I suppose the
+proceeding is unusual, but there is no reason why it should create
+excitement. It need not be commented on, for instance?"
+
+"No, no. Of course not."
+
+"Thank you very much. I have a special reason for wishing to live at
+this hotel. Indeed, I have given this address for certain important
+documents. Will you kindly arrange that I may be treated like any
+ordinary person?"
+
+"I hope the clerk was not rude to you?"
+
+"Not in the least. I am only anxious to prevent special notice being
+taken of me. You see, if others get to know I am living here alone, I
+will be pointed out as a curiosity, and that will not be pleasant."
+
+The request was eminently reasonable. The manager assured him that
+strict orders would be given on the point instantly, though he was quite
+certain, in his own mind, that inquiry would soon be made for this
+remarkable youth, perhaps by the police.
+
+"You can leave us," said Philip to the valet in French.
+
+Now the chance use of that language, no less than his perfect accent,
+went a long way toward removing the manager's suspicions. A boy who was
+so well educated must be quite out of the common. Perhaps some
+eccentric parent or guardian encouraged him to act independently thus
+early in life. He might be the son of a rich man coming to London for a
+special course of study. The name, Anson, was an aristocratic one. But
+his clothes--they were odd. Good enough, but not the right thing.
+
+"Will you oblige me by recommending a good tailor?" said Philip. "I need
+a complete outfit of wearing apparel, and it will save me a lot of
+trouble if somebody will tell me exactly what to buy and where to buy
+it."
+
+His uncanny trick of thought reading disconcerted the manager greatly.
+Undoubtedly the boy was a puzzle. Never had this experienced man of the
+world met anyone more self-possessed, more direct, and yet, with it all,
+exceedingly polite.
+
+"I take it that you want the best?" he inquired, pleasantly.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Are you lunching in the hotel?"
+
+"I would like something sent here, if you please, and, there again, your
+advice will be most gratefully accepted."
+
+The manager felt that a generation was growing up of which he knew
+nothing, but he simply answered:
+
+"I will see to it. Do you--er--take wine?"
+
+Philip laughed, that pleasant whole-souled laugh of his which instantly
+secured him friends.
+
+"Not yet, Monsieur----"
+
+"Foret is my name."
+
+"Well, Monsieur Foret, I am far too young as yet for either wine or
+tobacco. I promised my mother I would touch neither until I am
+twenty-one, and I will keep my word. I think I would like some _café au
+lait_."
+
+"I understand. Your _déjeuner_ will be sent up in ten minutes. By the
+time you have finished, I will have people here from two or three
+establishments who will meet all your requirements in the shape of
+clothes and the rest."
+
+An hour's talk and the payment of checks on account worked wonders.
+Before many days had passed, Philip was amply provided with raiment. His
+presence in the hotel, too, attracted no comment whatever. People who
+saw him coming or going, instantly assumed that he was staying with his
+people, while the manager took care that gossip among the employees was
+promptly stopped.
+
+As for the ragged youth with the diamonds, he was forgotten, apparently.
+The newspapers dropped him, believing, indeed, that Isaacstein had
+worked some ingenious advertising dodge on his own account, and Messrs.
+Sharpe & Smith never dreamed of looking for the lost Philip Anson, the
+derelict from Johnson's Mews, in the Pall Mall Hotel, the most luxurious
+and expensive establishment in London.
+
+That afternoon, Philip visited the Safe Deposit Company. He had little
+difficulty, of course, in securing a small strong-room. He encountered
+the wonted surprise at his youth, but the excellent argument of a
+banking account and the payment of a year's rent in advance soon cleared
+the air.
+
+He transferred four of his portmanteaux to this secure environment--the
+fifth was sent to his hotel. When the light failed, he drove to the East
+End, and made a round of pawnbrokers' shops. Although some of the
+tickets were time-expired, he recovered nearly all his mother's
+belongings, excepting her watch.
+
+The odd coincidence recalled the inspector's implied promise that he
+should receive one as a recognition of his gallantry.
+
+How remote, how far removed from each other, the main events in his life
+seemed to be at this eventful epoch. As he went westward in a hansom, he
+could hardly bring himself to believe that barely twenty-four hours had
+elapsed since he traveled to the Mile End Road in company with Mrs.
+Wrigley.
+
+And the curious thing was that he felt in no sense awed by the
+possession of thousands of pounds and the tenancy of palatial chambers
+in a great hotel. His career had been too checkered, its recent
+developments too stupendous, to cause him any undue emotion. Existence,
+for the hour, was a species of well-ordered dream, in which imagination
+was untrammeled save by the need to exercise his wits in order to keep
+the phantasy within the bounds, not of his own brain, but of other
+men's.
+
+At the hotel he found the French valet setting forth a shirt. The man
+explained that he required a spare set of studs and links.
+
+This reminded Philip that there was still a good deal of shopping to be
+done. He was about to leave the room for the purpose, when the valet
+said:
+
+"Another portmanteau has arrived for monsieur. Will you be pleased to
+unlock it?"
+
+"No," said Philip. "It must remain untouched." He smiled at the thought
+of the sensation his tattered rags and worn boots would make in that
+place. Yet, just a week ago, he passed through the street outside,
+bound in the pitiless rain for Johnson's Mews, and bent on suicide.
+
+He walked into Regent Street and made a number of purchases, not
+forgetting some books. A double silver-mounted photograph stand caught
+his eye. It would hold the two best pictures he possessed of his father
+and mother, so he bought it. He also acquired a dispatch box in which he
+could store his valuables, both jewelry and documents, for he had quite
+a number of receipts, letters and other things to safeguard now, and he
+did not wish servants' prying eyes to examine everything belonging to
+him.
+
+When alone in his room, he secured the album and locked that special
+portmanteau again, after stowing therein the letters found beneath Mrs.
+Anson's pillow. Soon his mother's dear face smiled at him from a
+beautiful border of filigree silver. The sight was pleasant to him,
+soothing to his full mind. In her eyes was a message of faith, of trust,
+of absolute confidence in the future.
+
+It was strange that he thought so little of his father at this time, but
+the truth was that his childhood was passed so much in his mother's
+company, and they were so inseparable during the last two years, that
+memories of his father were shadowy.
+
+Yet the physiognomist would have seen that the boy owed a great deal of
+his strength of character and well-knit frame to the handsome, stalwart
+man whose name he bore.
+
+Philip loved his mother on the compensating principle that persons of
+opposite natures often have an overpowering affinity for each other. He
+resembled her neither in features nor in the more subtle traits of
+character.
+
+After a dinner the excellence of which was in nowise diminished by lack
+of appreciation on his part, he undertook a pilgrimage of curiosity to
+which he had previously determined to devote the evening.
+
+He wondered unceasingly to whom he was indebted for the good meals he
+had enjoyed in prison. Now he would endeavor to find out.
+
+A hansom took him to Holloway, but the first efforts of the driver
+failed to discover the whereabouts of the "Royal Star Hotel."
+
+At last Philip recollected the warder's added direction--"opposite."
+
+He dismissed the cab and walked to the prison entrance. Directly in
+front he saw a small restaurant called the "Star." Its titular
+embellishments were due to the warder's gift of humor.
+
+He entered. A woman was knitting at a cash desk.
+
+"Until yesterday," he said, "you sent food regularly to a boy named
+Anson, who was confined in the prison----"
+
+"Yes," interrupted the lady. "I on'y heard this mornin' that he was let
+out."
+
+"Would you mind telling me who paid the bill? I suppose it was paid?"
+
+"Well, as a matter of fact, it was overpaid," was the reply. "You see,
+the pore lad was remanded for a week, an' Mr. Judd, a man 'oo lives in
+the Farringdon Road, kem 'ere an' arranged for 'is week's board. Hav' ye
+heard wot 'appened to 'im?"
+
+Philip's heart was in his mouth, but he managed to answer that the boy
+was all right; there was no charge against him. Then he escaped into
+the street. The one man he had forgotten was his greengrocer friend, who
+had indeed acted the part of the Good Samaritan.
+
+There was some excuse for this, but the boy's abounding good nature
+would admit of none. He hastened to Farringdon Road with the utmost
+speed, and found his fat friend putting up the shutters of his shop.
+
+The restaurant next door was open. Philip approached quietly.
+
+"Good-evening, Mr. Judd," he said, holding out his hand.
+
+"Good-evenin', sir," said the greengrocer, his eyes revealing not the
+remotest idea of the identity of the smart, young gentleman who
+addressed him so familiarly.
+
+"Don't you know me, Mr. Judd?"
+
+"Well, sir, I can't exactly bring to min'----"
+
+"I suppose the good fare you provided for me at Holloway has so altered
+my appearance that you fail to recognize me again?"
+
+"Wot! Ye don't mean to s'y----'Ere, Eliza, this young gent is the lad I
+was a-tellin' you of. Remanded till Saturday, you was. I saw in the
+piper last night. Well, there, I'm done!"
+
+By this time Philip was inside the shop, and the stout greengrocer and
+his equally stout spouse were gazing open-mouthed at this well-dressed
+youth who had supplanted the thin tatterdemalion so much discussed by
+them and their neighbors.
+
+Judd and the restaurant keeper were the only men in the locality who
+could claim actual acquaintance with the boy whose strange proceedings
+as reported by the newspapers made London gape. Indeed, both men had
+been interviewed by police and reporters many times. They were living
+links with the marvelous, a pedestal of common stone for an aërial
+phantasy.
+
+And now, here he was, back again, dressed like a young gentleman, and
+hailing Judd as a valued friend. No wonder the greengrocer lost his
+breath and his power of speech.
+
+But Philip was smiling at him and talking.
+
+"You were the one man out of many, Mr. Judd, who believed in me, and
+even stuck up for me when you saw me led through the street by a
+policeman to be imprisoned on a false charge. I did not know until an
+hour ago that I was indebted to you for an abundance of excellent food
+while I was remanded in prison. I will not offer to refund you the money
+you spent. My gratitude will take another form, which you will learn in
+a few days. But I do want to pay you the ninepence I borrowed. Would you
+mind asking the proprietor of the restaurant to step in here for a
+moment? Don't say I am present. I wish to avoid a crowd, you know."
+
+Judd had time to collect his scattered ideas during this long speech.
+
+"Blow the ninepence!" he cried. "Wot's ninepence for the treat I've 'ad?
+People I never set eyes on in my life afore kem 'ere an' bought
+cabbiges, or taters, or mebbe a few plums, an' then they'd stawt: 'Mr.
+Judd, wasn't it you as stood a dinner to the Boy King of Diamonds?'
+That's wot they christened yer, sir. Or it's: 'Mr. Judd, cahn't yer tell
+us w'ere that young Morland lives? Sure-ly yer know summat abaht 'im or
+yer wouldn't hev paid 'is bill.' Oh, it 'as bin a beano. Hasn't it,
+Eliza?"
+
+"But we never let on a word," put in Mrs. Judd. "We was close as wax. We
+told none of 'em as how Mr. Judd went to 'Olloway that night, did we,
+Willyum?"
+
+"Not us. Ye see, I took a fancy to ye. If ahr little Johnnie 'ad lived
+'e'd ha' bin just your ige. Fifteen, aren't ye?"
+
+At last Philip got him persuaded to summon his neighbor. Judd did so
+with an air of mystery that caused the bald-headed restaurateur to
+believe that a burglar was bottled up in the greengrocer's cellar.
+
+Once inside the shop, however, Mr. Judd's manner changed.
+
+"Wot did I tell yer, Tomkins?" he cried, elatedly. "Wot price me as a
+judge of karak-ter! 'Ere's Mr. Morland come back to p'y me that
+ninepence. Eh, Tomkins! 'Oo's right now, old cock?"
+
+Philip solemnly counted out the money, which he handed to his delighted
+backer.
+
+"There was a bet, too," he said.
+
+"Ra-ther!" roared Judd. "Two bob, w'ich I've pide. Out wi' four bob,
+Tomkins. Lord lumme, I'll stand treat at the George for this!"
+
+"There's something funny in the kise," growled Tomkins, as he
+unwillingly produced a couple of florins.
+
+"I was sure you would see the joke at once," said Philip. "Good-by, Mr.
+Judd. Good-by, ma'am. You will hear from me without fail within a
+fortnight."
+
+He was gone before they realized his intention. They saw him skip
+rapidly up the steps leading into Holborn, and London had swallowed him
+forever so far as they were concerned.
+
+Ten days later a firm of solicitors wrote to the greengrocer to inform
+him that a client of theirs had acquired the freehold of his house and
+shop, which property, during the life of either himself or his wife,
+would be tenantable free of rent, rates or taxes.
+
+So Mr. Judd's investment of ninepence, plus the amount expended on
+eatables at the Royal Star Hotel, secured to him and his wife an annual
+revenue of one hundred and seventy-five pounds.
+
+And Tomkins never heard the last of it.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII.
+
+_The Close of One Epoch._
+
+
+Before retiring to rest, Philip ascertained Mr. Abingdon's London
+address, and wrote asking for an appointment the following evening.
+
+He also interviewed the manager.
+
+"I want the help of a thoroughly reliable solicitor," he said. "I wish
+to purchase some property--not valuable property, but of importance to
+me. Can you give me the address of some one known to you?"
+
+M. Foret named a reputable firm in the locality.
+
+"They may refer to you," added Philip. "Of course, I do not ask you to
+say more than that I am staying here, but the point is, I do not wish
+you to mention my age."
+
+"Will you not see them, then?"
+
+"No. I will endeavor to conduct the whole business by post."
+
+The manager laughed.
+
+"You certainly are the coolest young gentleman I ever met. However, Mr.
+Anson, it may please you to know that your bank gave you the best of
+recommendations. I will say so to anybody."
+
+So Philip first drafted and then copied the following letter:
+
+     "DEAR SIRS: M. Foret, of this hotel, has given me your names as a
+     firm likely to transact certain negotiations for me. I want to
+     purchase a small property in the Mile End Road, known as Johnson's
+     Mews; also a shop near the entrance to the mews, tenanted by a
+     marine-store dealer named O'Brien. The mews is owned by the Cardiff
+     and Havre Coal Company, Ltd. I do not know who owns the shop. I
+     wish to acquire these properties for a philanthropic purpose, but I
+     am most desirous that my name should not figure in the transaction.
+     I propose, therefore, when you have ascertained the price, which
+     should be at the earliest possible moment, to pay to your credit
+     the requisite amount. You can have the properties transferred to
+     any nominee you choose, and again transferred to me. Kindly add
+     your costs, etc., to the purchase price. My movements are somewhat
+     uncertain, so please send all communications by letter. It will be
+     an obligation, and lead to future business, if you attend to this
+     matter to-morrow morning. Yours faithfully,
+
+     "PHILIP ANSON."
+
+He did not compose this letter without considerable trouble. The
+"philanthropic purpose" he had already decided upon, but he thought it
+was rather clever to refer to the possibilities of "future business."
+
+As for the double transfer, he distinctly remembered copying letters
+dealing with several such transactions at the time of the coal company's
+conversion into a limited liability concern.
+
+He was early to bed, and his rest was not disturbed by dreams. He rose
+long before the ordinary residents. Deferring his breakfast, he walked
+to Fleet Street and purchased copies of morning and evening papers for
+the whole of the week.
+
+He could thus enjoy the rare luxury of seeing himself as others saw him.
+He read the perfervid descriptions of the scene in court, and found
+himself variously described as "pert," "masterful," "imperious," "highly
+intelligent," "endowed with a thin veneer of education," and
+"affected."
+
+Philip could afford to laugh at the unfavorable epithets. Up to the age
+of thirteen, he had been trained in a first-rate lycée, and his work was
+supervised by his mother, a woman of very great culture. He spoke French
+as well as English, and spoke both admirably. He knew some Greek and
+Latin, was well advanced in arithmetic, and had a special penchant for
+history and geography.
+
+It was in the glowing articles which appeared during his imprisonment
+that he took the keenest interest. Oddly enough, one ingenious
+correspondent blundered onto a clew. Gifted with an analytical mind, he
+had reasoned that the diamond-laden meteor fell during the extraordinary
+storm of the nineteenth, and the Meteorological Department in Victoria
+Street helped him by describing the center of the disturbance as
+situated somewhat to the east of the London Hospital.
+
+This writer had actually interviewed a member of the staff of that
+institution who amused himself by noting barometrical vagaries. His
+instrument recorded an extraordinary increase of pressure soon after ten
+o'clock on the night of the storm.
+
+"Alas!" added the scribe, "it did not indicate where the meteor fell,
+and not a policeman, 'bus driver or railway official can be found who
+observed anything beyond a phenomenal electrical display and a violent
+downpour of rain."
+
+That was too close to be pleasant, and Philip was glad to hear from M.
+Foret that the solicitors, after telephoning to ask for some particulars
+concerning Mr. Anson, were giving prompt attention to his instructions.
+
+"What did you tell them?" asked Philip.
+
+"I said that you impressed me as the kind of young gentleman who would
+pay well for services given unsparingly."
+
+"Did that satisfy them?"
+
+"Perfectly. Such clients do not abound in these hard times."
+
+Three hours later, a letter came for "Philip Anson, Esq.," by hand. It
+was from the solicitors, and read:
+
+     "We are in receipt of your esteemed instructions. Although Saturday
+     is a day on which it is difficult to do business, we lost no time
+     in inspecting the premises in the Mile End Road, accompanied by a
+     surveyor. We found that the mews stand approximately on an area of
+     three thousand two hundred superficial feet, while the shop
+     tenanted by O'Brien has a frontage on the main road of eighteen
+     feet, with a probable depth of thirty or thirty-five feet. The
+     owner of this shop is a resident in the neighborhood, and he will
+     accept four hundred and fifty pounds for the freehold.
+
+     "We were fortunate in finding the managing director of the Cardiff
+     and Havre Coal Company, Ltd., at his office. Although the company
+     require the mews for the purpose of a depot, they are not unwilling
+     to sell, with a stipulation that the premises shall not be used by
+     any competing company during a period of twenty years from the date
+     of transfer. We stated that the site was required for a
+     philanthropic purpose, but the latter stipulation is insisted on.
+     The price asked is two thousand two hundred pounds, which we
+     consider excessive, there being a very inadequate approach.
+     Moreover, we wish to point out that O'Brien's shop does not adjoin
+     the mews, and it would be necessary to purchase two other houses to
+     make the entire property a compact one.
+
+     "However, adhering to the letter of your instructions, we have
+     pleasure in informing you that the two properties can be acquired
+     with very little delay, for two thousand six hundred and fifty
+     pounds. The legal and other charges will not exceed one hundred and
+     fifty pounds. We trust, etc."
+
+Philip immediately wrote:
+
+     "I am greatly obliged by your promptitude in the matter of
+     Johnson's Mews and the shop. I inclose check herewith for two
+     thousand eight hundred pounds. The purchase of the other houses can
+     stand over for a few days."
+
+This he dispatched by special messenger, and in a few minutes he held a
+formal receipt.
+
+A telegram came for him. It was from Mr. Abingdon.
+
+     "Can see you after six at my house."
+
+Then Philip enjoyed his first real breathing space during hours of
+daylight. He went by train to the cemetery in which his mother was
+buried, carrying with him a beautiful wreath.
+
+It was a remarkable fact that this was the first visit he had paid to
+her grave. During the days of misery and partial madness which followed
+her death he never lost the delusion that her spirit abided with him in
+the poor dwelling they called "home."
+
+Hence, the narrow resting place beneath the green turf in no way
+appealed to him. But now, that a succession of extraordinary external
+events had restored the balance of his mind, he realized that she was
+really dead and buried; that what he revered as her spirit was in truth
+a fragrant memory; that he would be nearest to her mortal remains when
+standing in the remote corner of the burial ground allotted to the
+poorest of the poor--those removed by one degree from pauperdom and a
+parish grave.
+
+It happened, by mere chance, that since Mrs. Anson's funeral no one had
+been interred on one side of the small space purchased for her. There
+were three vacant plots here, and a surprised official told Philip there
+would be no difficulty in acquiring these for the purpose of erecting a
+suitable monument.
+
+The boy filled in the necessary forms there and then. It was some
+consolation to know that he could perpetuate her memory in this way,
+though he had formulated another project which should keep her name
+revered through the ages.
+
+On the site of Johnson's Mews should arise the Mary Anson Home for
+Destitute Boys. He would build a place where those who were willing to
+work and learn would be given a chance, and not driven, starving and
+desperate, to pick up an existence in the gutter.
+
+He was too young to devise all the details of such a splendid
+institution, but he had got the idea and would possess the money. He
+would leave the practical part of the undertaking to older heads.
+
+The one essential feature was that generations yet unborn should learn
+to love and honor the name of Mary Anson. Provided that were achieved,
+he knew the work would be successful.
+
+Soon after leaving the cemetery he came face to face with Bradley, the
+policeman, who was in plain clothes, and walking with a lady, obviously
+Mrs. Bradley, judging by the matronly manner in which she wheeled a
+perambulator containing a chubby infant.
+
+"Well, I'm blowed!" cried the policeman, "who would have thought of
+meeting you! I looked in at the mews last night, but you had gone. Some
+one is looking after you pretty well; eh?"
+
+He cast a patronizing eye over Philip's garments, which were, of course,
+considerably smarter in appearance than those in which the constable had
+seen him on Thursday evening.
+
+"Yes," said Philip. "I am in good hands now."
+
+"They haven't given you a watch?" This anxiously.
+
+"No. I am watchless."
+
+"That's right. You'll have one soon. The inspector has your address. By
+the way, he wants to know your Christian name."
+
+"Philip."
+
+"Thanks. I won't forget."
+
+Philip raised his hat and took the quickest route westward. He did not
+count on being recognized so easily.
+
+Mr. Abingdon received him with some degree of reserve. The magistrate
+could not understand the receipt of a letter bearing the address of the
+Pall Mall Hotel, a place where he had been entertained at dinner
+occasionally by one of his wealthy friends, but which was far removed
+from the limit imposed on the pocket of any man whose resources depended
+on the exercise of an ordinary profession.
+
+But Philip still figured in his mind as a ragged urchin. Not even the
+skilled police magistrate could picture him as the actual owner of
+millions of pounds worth of portable property. Hence, the boy's
+appearance now told in his favor. Cursory impressions soon yielded to
+positive bewilderment when Philip began to relate his story faithfully
+from beginning to end, neither exaggerating nor suppressing any salient
+detail save the actual locality where his astounding adventures found
+their center and genesis.
+
+Mr. Abingdon did not doubt for one moment that the boy was telling the
+truth. The romance of his narrative was far beyond fiction.
+
+Philip himself grew enthusiastic as he went on. His brown eyes blazed
+again with the memory of his wrath and shame at the arrest. He told the
+magistrate exactly how the proceedings in court had affected him, and
+gave a vivid picture of his bargaining with Isaacstein, the packing of
+the diamonds, the fight between the policeman and a burglar, his
+interviews with all sorts and conditions of men, and the ruses he had
+adopted to preserve his secret.
+
+At last he came to the transaction which secured for him the ownership
+of the mews itself. He read copies of his letters to the solicitors, and
+their replies, and then, of course, the magistrate knew where the meteor
+had fallen.
+
+"That is a very clever move on your part," he said, smiling. "It invests
+you with all the rights and usages of that particular piece of earth,
+and effectually stops anyone from disputing your possession of the
+meteor. How did you come to think of it?"
+
+"You put the idea into my mind, sir," said Philip, modestly.
+
+"I? In what manner?"
+
+"You hinted, at our last meeting, that some one might lay claim to my
+diamonds on the ground that they had fallen on their property. I do not
+intend that anyone living, except yourself, shall ever know the history
+of my meteor, but I thought it best to buy the place outright in the
+first instance, and then devote it to a charity which I intend to found
+in memory of my mother."
+
+Mr. Abingdon smiled again.
+
+"Your confidence is very flattering," he said. "I suppose you took up
+your quarters at the Pall Mall Hotel in order to impress people with
+your importance and secure instant compliance with your wishes?"
+
+"That was my motive, sir."
+
+"Then, my young millionaire, in what way do you wish me to serve you? Of
+course, you have not sought this interview and told me your story so
+unreservedly without an ulterior object in view? You see, I am beginning
+to understand you already a little better than when we first met."
+
+Philip did not reply immediately. He did not want to risk a refusal, and
+he was not yet quite sure that the magistrate fully comprehended the
+extent of the fortune which had been showered on him from nature's own
+mint.
+
+"When Mr. Isaacstein returns from Amsterdam he will pay me something
+like forty thousand pounds," he said.
+
+"Yes. It would seem so from the receipt you have shown me."
+
+"That will be determined on Wednesday next at the latest."
+
+"Yes."
+
+"If the money is forthcoming it will be proof positive that my diamonds
+are of good quality, and, as I picked up these dirty stones quite
+promiscuously, it follows that the others are of the same standard?"
+
+"Undoubtedly."
+
+"Well, Mr. Abingdon, I can form no estimate of their collective value,
+but they must be worth many millions. According to Mr. Isaacstein's
+views, I will be able to command a revenue of between a quarter and half
+a million sterling per annum."
+
+"It is marvelous, perfectly appalling in some senses," cried the
+perturbed lawyer, throwing up his hands in the extremity of his
+amazement.
+
+"You are right, sir. I am only a boy, and the thing is beyond my powers.
+I can see quite clearly that while I ought to be at college obtaining a
+proper education, I will be worrying about the care of great sums of
+money. I do not know anything about investments. How should I?
+Isaacstein is a Jew, and he will probably endeavor very soon to get the
+better of me in the necessary business transactions. How can I stop him?
+I have no older relatives, no friends whom I can trust. For some reason,
+I do feel that I can have faith in you. Will you take charge of my
+affairs, advise me during the next few years, tell me how to act as my
+mother would have told me--in a word, become my guardian?"
+
+For a little while Mr. Abingdon was silent. When words came he could
+only gasp:
+
+"You certainly are the most extraordinary boy I have ever encountered."
+
+Then Philip laughed merrily.
+
+"I don't think, sir, that I am so much an extraordinary boy as a boy who
+has been pitchforked into an extraordinary position. I hope most
+sincerely that you will do what I ask. If I may say so without
+presumption, it will be a good thing for you. I suppose a man who looks
+after millions of money is entitled to a vastly bigger income than one
+who sits hours in a police court dealing with offenses against the law."
+
+"Such has certainly been my experience," said the magistrate, who
+appreciated the nice manner in which Philip hinted at a good, fat salary
+for controlling the estate of the King of Diamonds.
+
+"Then you agree," cried Philip, joyously.
+
+"Not so fast, my youthful friend. Even a police magistrate must bow to
+his wife. Mrs. Abingdon would never forgive me if I took such an
+important step without consulting her. Will you remain to dinner?"
+
+Then Philip knew that he had gained his point. Nothing was said before
+the servants, but when they were cozily ensconced in the library before
+a pleasant fire, he was asked to relate again his entrancing history for
+Mrs. Abingdon's benefit.
+
+That good lady was overwhelmed. She, like everybody else, had read the
+newspapers, and, of course, had the additional benefit of her husband's
+views on the subject of the unkempt boy with his small parcel of
+valuable gems.
+
+But the presence of Philip under their roof, the glamour of the tale as
+it fell from his lips, cast a spell over her. She was a kindly soul,
+too, and tears gathered in her eyes at some portions of the recital.
+
+"What a pity it is that your mother died," she murmured, when he had
+ended.
+
+The words endeared her to Philip instantly. A worldly, grasping woman
+would have thought of nothing save the vista of wealth opened up for her
+husband and herself. Not so Mrs. Abingdon. If anything, she was somewhat
+afraid of the responsibilities proposed to be undertaken by her spouse,
+to whom she was devoted.
+
+The magistrate did not promise definitely that night to accept the
+position offered to him. He would think over the matter. He could retire
+on a pension at any time. This he would now do without delay, and Philip
+could certainly count on his friendship and advice, while his house
+would always be open to him.
+
+Meanwhile, he would give one word of advice--intrust no human being with
+the power to sign any binding document without his--Philip's--consent.
+Then it would be difficult for anyone to deal unscrupulously with him.
+
+The boy went away at a late hour. He left behind him an exceedingly
+perplexed couple, but he felt that when Mr. Abingdon had time to
+assimilate the facts, and realize the great scope of the work before
+him, there was little doubt he would gladly associate himself with it.
+
+At the hotel a telegram awaited him:
+
+     "Have realized for fifty-two thousand. Returning Monday.
+     ISAACSTEIN."
+
+Here was the final proof, if proof were wanting. Philip was a
+millionaire many times over.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII.
+
+_After Long Years._
+
+
+A tall, strongly built man, aged about forty-five, but looking older, by
+reason of his grizzled hair and a face seamed with hardship--a man whose
+prominent eyes imparted an air of alert intelligence to an otherwise
+heavy and brutal countenance, disfigured by a broken nose, stood on the
+north side of the Mile End Road and looked fixedly across the street at
+a fine building which dwarfed the mean houses on either hand.
+
+He had no need to ask what it was. Carved in stone over the handsome
+arch which led to an interior covered court was its title--"The Mary
+Anson Home for Destitute Boys." A date followed, a date ten years old.
+
+The observer was puzzled. He gazed up and down the wide thoroughfare
+with the manner of one who asked himself:
+
+"Now, why was that built there?"
+
+A policeman strolled leisurely along the pavement, but to him the man
+addressed no question. Apparently unconscious of the constable's
+observant glance, he still continued to scrutinize the great pile of
+brick and stone which thrust its splendid campanile into the warm
+sunshine of an April day.
+
+Beneath the name was an inscription:
+
+"These are they which passed through great tribulation."
+
+A queer smile did not improve the man's expression as he read the text.
+
+"Tribulation! That's it," he continued. "I've had ten years of it. And
+it started somewhere about the end of that fine entrance, too. I wonder
+where Sailor is, and that boy. He's a man now, mebbe twenty-six or so,
+if he's alive. Oh, I hope he's alive! I hope he's rich and healthy and
+engaged or married to a nice, young woman. If I've managed to live in
+hell for ten long years, a youngster like him should be able to pull
+through with youth and strength and a bag full of diamonds."
+
+Without turning his head, he became aware that the policeman had halted
+at some little distance.
+
+"Of course, I've got the mark on me," said the man, savagely, to
+himself. "He's spotted me, all right. Well, I'll let him see I don't
+care for him or any of his breed. I never did care, and it's too late to
+begin now."
+
+He crossed the road, passed between two fine, iron gates standing
+hospitably open, and paused at the door of the porter's lodge, where a
+stalwart commissionaire met him.
+
+"Have you called to see one of the boys?" said the official, cheerfully.
+
+"No. I'm a stranger. It's a good many years since I was in these parts
+before. In those days there used to be a mews here, and some warehouses
+at the back, with a few old shops----"
+
+"Oh, I expect so, but that is long before my time. The Mary Anson Home
+was founded ten years ago, and it took two years to build. It's one of
+the finest charities in London. Would you like to look round?"
+
+"Is that allowed?"
+
+"Certainly. Everybody is welcome. If you go in by that side door, there,
+you'll find an old man who has nothing else to do but take visitors to
+the chief departments. Bless your heart, we lose half our boarders that
+way. People come here, see the excellences of the training we give, and
+offer situations to boys who are old enough."
+
+The man appeared to be surprised by the commissionaire's affability. He
+did not know that civility and kindness were essential there if any
+employee would retain an excellent post.
+
+He passed on, measuring the tessellated court with a backward sweep of
+the eye. In the sunlit street beyond the arch stood the policeman. The
+visitor grinned again, an unamiable and sulky grin, and vanished.
+
+The policeman crossed over.
+
+"What is that chap after?" he inquired.
+
+"Nothing special," was the answer. "Last time he was here the place was
+a mews, he said."
+
+"Unless I am greatly mistaken, he has a ticket in his pocket."
+
+"You don't say! Do you know him?"
+
+"No. I'll look him up in the album in the station when I go off duty."
+
+"Well, he can't do any harm here. O'Brien takes visitors over a regular
+round, and, in any case, the man seemed to be honest enough in his
+curiosity."
+
+"You never can tell. They're up to all sorts of dodges."
+
+"Thanks very much. I'll ring for O'Brien's relief and tell him to keep
+an eye on them, as the old man is blind as a bat."
+
+Meanwhile the stranger was being conducted up a wide staircase by a
+somewhat tottering guide, who wore on the breast of his uniform the
+Crimean and Indian Mutiny medals.
+
+As he hobbled in front, he told, with a strong, Irish brogue, the
+familiar story of the Mary Anson Home--how it fed, lodged and clothed
+six hundred boys of British parentage born in the Whitechapel district;
+how it taught them trades and followed their careers with fostering
+care; how it never refused a meal or a warm sleeping place to any boy,
+no matter where he came from or what his nationality, provided he
+satisfied the superintendent that he was really destitute or needed his
+small capital for trading purposes next day.
+
+The great central hall where the six hundred regular inmates ate their
+meals, the dormitories, the playgrounds, the drill shed and gymnasium,
+the workshops, the library, the theater, were all pointed out, but the
+big man with the staring eyes was not interested one jot in any of these
+things.
+
+"Who was Mary Anson?" he asked, when the well-worn tale was ended, "and
+how did she come to build such a fine place here?"
+
+"Ah, ye may well ax that," said old O'Brien. "Sure, she didn't build it
+at all at all. She was a poor widdy livin' alone-st wid one son, Mr.
+Philip that is now. She was a born lady, but she kem down in the worruld
+and died, forlorn an' forgotten, in a little shanty in Johnson's Mews,
+as it was called in those days."
+
+"I remember it well."
+
+"Ye do, eh? Mebbe ye know my ould shop, the marine store near the
+entrance to the court?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Arrah, ye don't tell me so. Me eyes are gettin' wake, an' I can't make
+out yer face. What's yer name?"
+
+"Oh, I'm afraid we didn't know one another. I can't recall your name,
+though I recollect the shop well enough. But, if Mrs. Anson died so
+poor, how was her son able to set this great house on its legs? It must
+have cost a mint of money."
+
+"Faix, ye're right. Quarter of a million wint afore there was a boy
+under its roof. And they say it costs fifty thousand pounds a year to
+keep it goin'. But Mr. Philip would find that and more to delight the
+sowl of the mother that's dead. Sure it's aisy for him, in a way. Isn't
+he the Diamond King!"
+
+"The Diamond King! Why is he called that?"
+
+"D'ye mane to say you nivver----Man alive, what part of creation did ye
+live in that ye didn't hear tell of Mr. Philip Anson, the boy who
+discovered an extra spishul diamond mine of his own, no one knows where.
+Sure, now, what's wrong wid ye?"
+
+For the visitor was softly using words which to O'Brien's dull ears
+sounded very like a string of curses.
+
+"I'm sorry," growled the other, with an effort. "I've been to Africa,
+an' I get such a spasm now an' then in my liver that I can hardly
+stand."
+
+"That's no way to cure yourself--profanin' the name of th' Almighty,"
+cried O'Brien.
+
+"No. I'm sorry, I tell you. But about this boy----"
+
+"There's no more to see now, if ye plaze. That's the way out."
+
+O'Brien was deeply offended by the language used beneath a roof hallowed
+by the name of Mary Anson. The sightseer had to go, and quickly.
+Another commissionaire, who was observing them from a distance, came up
+and asked O'Brien what the stranger was talking about.
+
+"Ye nivver heard sich a blaggard," said the old man, indignantly. "I was
+in the middle of tellin' him about Mr. Philip, when he began to curse
+like Ould Nick himself."
+
+In the Mile End Road the rawboned person who betrayed such excitement
+found the policeman awaiting him. He sprang onto a 'bus, and purposely
+glared at the officer in a manner to attract his attention. When at a
+safe distance he put his fingers to his nose. The constable smiled.
+
+"I knew I was right," he said. "I don't need to look twice at that sort
+of customer."
+
+And he entered the Mary Anson Home again to ask the porter what had
+taken place.
+
+It was an easy matter for Jocky Mason, released from Portland Prison on
+ticket-of-leave, after serving the major portion of a sentence of
+fourteen years' penal servitude--the man he assaulted had died, and the
+ex-convict narrowly escaped being hanged--to ascertain the salient facts
+of Philip Anson's later career.
+
+It was known to most men. He was biographed briefly in _Who's Who_ and
+had often supplied material for a column of gossip in the newspapers.
+Every free library held books containing references to him.
+
+It was quite impossible that the source of his great wealth should
+remain hidden for all time. In one way and another it leaked out, and he
+became identified with the ragged youth who created a sensation in the
+dock of the Clerkenwell Police Station.
+
+But this was years later, and the clever manipulation of Mr. Abingdon,
+as his estate agent, and of Mr. Isaacstein, as his representative in the
+diamond trade, completely frustrated all attempts to measure the true
+extent of the meteor's value.
+
+For now Philip owned a real diamond mine in South Africa; he had a fine
+estate in Sussex, a house in Park Lane, a superb sea-going yacht, a
+colliery in Yorkshire, and vast sums invested in land and railways. The
+latent value of his gems had been converted into money-earning capital.
+
+Mr. Abingdon proved himself to be a very able business man. When the
+administration of Philip's revenue became too heavy a task for his
+unaided shoulders, he organized a capital estate office, with
+well-trained lawyers, engineers and accountants to conduct its various
+departments, while he kept up an active supervision of the whole until
+Philip quitted his university, and was old enough to begin to bear some
+portion of the burden.
+
+They agreed to differ on this important question. Philip was fond of
+travel and adventure. With great difficulty his "guardian" kept him out
+of the army, but compromised the matter by allowing the young
+millionaire to roam about the odd corners of the world in his yacht for
+eight months of the year, provided he spent four months of the season in
+London and Sussex attending to affairs.
+
+In this month of April he was living in his town house. In July he would
+go to Fairfax Hall, in August to Scotland, and a month later would
+joyfully fly to the Forth, where the _Sea Maiden_ awaited him.
+
+This lady, whose waist measured eighteen feet across and whose length
+was seventy feet, with a fine spread of canvas and auxiliary steam, was
+the only siren able to charm him.
+
+He was tall now, and strongly built, with something of the naval officer
+in his handsome, resolute face and well set-up figure. As a hobby, he
+had taken out a master mariner's certificate, and he could navigate his
+own ship in the teeth of an Atlantic gale. He loved to surround himself
+with friends, mostly Oxford men of his year, but he seldom entertained
+ladies, either on board the _Sea Maiden_ or in either of his two fine
+mansions.
+
+He avoided society in its general acceptance, refused all overtures to
+mix in politics, took a keen delight in using his great wealth to
+alleviate distress anonymously, and earned a deserved reputation as a
+"bear" among the few match-making mammas who managed to make his
+acquaintance.
+
+In other respects, as the boy was so was the man--the same downright
+character, the same steadfast devotion to his mother's memory, the same
+relentless adherence to a course already decided on, and the same
+whole-hearted reciprocity of friendship.
+
+As he stood in his drawing room before dinner on the evening of the day
+Jocky Mason re-visited the locality, if not the surroundings, of his
+capture, Philip's strong face wore an unwonted expression of annoyance.
+He walked to and fro from end to end of the beautiful room, pausing each
+time he reached the window to gaze out over the park.
+
+A servant, who entered for the purpose of turning on the electric lights
+and lowering the blinds, was bidden, almost impatiently, to wait until
+Philip and his guests were at dinner.
+
+A telegram came. Anson opened it and read:
+
+     "Was dressing to come to your place when Grainger telegraphed for
+     me to act as substitute Lincoln Quarter Sessions. Must go down at
+     once.
+
+     "FOX."
+
+"No answer," he said, adding, to himself:
+
+"That's better. Fox's caustic humor would have worried me to-night. I
+wish Abingdon would come. I am eager to tell him what has happened."
+
+Now, punctuality was one of Mr. Abingdon's many virtues. At half-past
+seven to the tick his brougham deposited him at the door.
+
+The two met with a cordial greeting that showed the close ties of mutual
+good fellowship and respect which bound them together.
+
+"Fox won't be here," said Philip. "Grainger has broken down--ill health,
+I suppose--and wired for him to go to Lincoln."
+
+"Ah, that's a lift for Fox. He is a clever fellow, and if he manages to
+tell the jury a joke or two he will influence a verdict as unfairly as
+any man I know."
+
+"Does it not seem to you to be rather an anomaly that justice, which in
+the abstract is impeccable, too often depends on other issues which have
+no possible bearing on the merits of the dispute itself?"
+
+"My dear boy, that defect will continue until the crack of doom. Pascal
+laid it bare in an epigram--'_Plaisante justice! qu'une rivière ou une
+montaigne borne! Vérité au deçà du Pyrénées, erreur au delà!_' It all
+depends on which side the Pyrenees Fox happens to be."
+
+"Unfortunately, I am straddling the water shed at this moment. I have
+made a very unpleasant discovery, Abingdon, and I am glad we are alone
+to-night--we can speak freely. Some people named Sharpe & Smith wrote to
+me yesterday."
+
+"I know them--an old-established firm of solicitors."
+
+"Well, they urged me to give them an appointment on a private matter,
+and I did so. They began by trying to cross-examine me, but that was an
+abject failure. Seeing that whatever they had to say must stand on its
+own legs, they told me an extraordinary story. It appears that at a
+place called The Hall, Beltham, Devon, lives an elderly baronet, named
+Sir Philip Morland."
+
+"Morland! Philip Morland!"
+
+"Ah, you remember the name! It was given to a young derelict who once
+figured in the dock before you on a charge of being in unlawful
+possession----"
+
+"The matter is not serious, then?"
+
+"It is very serious. The real Philip Morland is my uncle."
+
+"Do you mean to say that you learned this fact for the first time to-day
+from Sharpe & Smith?"
+
+Philip laughed. By this time they were seated at the table, and their
+talk depended to a certain extent on the comings and goings of servants.
+At a dinner _en famille_, the presence of a ponderous butler and solemn
+lackeys was dispensed with.
+
+"Oh, you lawyers!" he cried. "That's a nice sort of leading question.
+But, marvelous as it may seem to you, I must answer 'Yes.' My mother's
+maiden name was Morland. Her brother was much older than she, and it
+appears the dear woman married to please herself, thereby mortally
+offending the baronet."
+
+"Why the 'offense'?"
+
+"Because my father's social position was not equal to that of the
+aristocratic Morlands. Moreover, her brother had an accident in his
+youth which rendered him irritable and morose. From being a pleasant
+sort of man; which, indeed, he must have been did he share aught of my
+mother's nature--he grew into a misanthrope, and gave his life to the
+classification of Exmoor beetles. He treated my mother very badly, so
+vilely that even she, dear soul, during her married life held no further
+communication with him, and never mentioned him to me by name. Now, one
+day on Exmoor he found a lady who also was devoted to beetles. At least,
+she knew all that the Encyclopædia Britannica could teach her. She was a
+poor but handsome widow."
+
+"Ah!"
+
+"It is delightful to talk with you, Abingdon. Your monosyllables help
+the narrative along. Sir Philip married the widow. She brought him a
+son, aged five. There were no children born of my uncle's marriage."
+
+"Oh!"
+
+"When poverty overtook my dear one, she so far obliterated a cruel
+memory as to appeal, not once, but many times, to the human coleopterus
+of Exmoor, but she was invariably frozen off either by Lady Louisa
+Morland or by Messrs. Sharpe & Smith."
+
+"Did they admit this?"
+
+"By no means. I am telling you the facts. I am still on top of the
+Pyrenees."
+
+"Then how did you ascertain the facts?"
+
+"I have in my possession ever since my mother's death the letters they
+wrote to her. They were fresh in my memory when you and I first met in
+the Clerkenwell Police Court. That is why the name of Philip Morland
+was glib on my tongue."
+
+"So I have only heard historical events, events prior to the last ten
+years?"
+
+"Exactly. My uncle is now sixty years of age. Lady Louisa Morland's son
+is twenty-four. Her ladyship's whole aim in life has been to secure him
+as the baronet's heir. The title, of course, he cannot obtain. But, most
+unfortunately, he has no penchant for beetles. Indeed, Lady Louisa's
+researches have long since diminished in ardor. Her son's interests are
+divided between the Sports Club and the coryphées of the latest musical
+comedy--moths are more in his line, apparently. My uncle, who is
+preparing a monograph on the fleas which patronize Exmoor wild ponies,
+came to town last week to visit the British Museum. Unhappily, he heard
+something about his stepson which disturbed his researches. There was a
+row."
+
+"Why do you say 'unhappily'?"
+
+"Because I am dragged into the wretched business on account of it. After
+a lapse of more than twenty-five years, he remembered his sister, went
+to his solicitors, made a fearful hubbub when he heard of letters
+received from her and answered without his knowledge, and ascertained
+that she was dead, and had a son living. At any cost, they must find
+that son. They have guessed at my identity for some time. Now they want
+to make sure of it."
+
+"And what did you say?"
+
+"I told them I would think over the situation and communicate with them
+further."
+
+"Were they satisfied?"
+
+"By no means. They are exceedingly anxious to placate the old man. They
+probably control a good deal of his money."
+
+"Um!"
+
+"Of course! You see the delicacy of their position. After playing into
+the hands of Lady Louisa for nearly a quarter of a century, they
+suddenly find the whole situation changed by the baronet's belated
+discovery that he once had a sister."
+
+"You have not told me all this without a purpose. Do you want my
+advice?"
+
+Philip's face was clouded, his eyes downcast.
+
+"You understand," he said, after a long pause, "that some one, either
+the man or the woman--the woman, I think--is morally responsible for my
+mother's death. She was poor--wretchedly, horribly poor--the poverty of
+thin clothing and insufficient food. She was ill, confined to a
+miserable hovel for weary months, and was so utterly unprovided with the
+barest necessaries that the parish doctor was on the point of compelling
+her to go to the workhouse infirmary when death came. Am I to be the
+instrument of God's vengeance on this woman?"
+
+Mr. Abingdon, who had risen to light a cigar, placed a kindly hand on
+the young man's shoulder.
+
+"Philip," he said, with some emotion, "I have never yet heard you utter
+a hasty judgment. You have prudence far beyond your years. It seems to
+me, speaking with all the reverence of man in face of the decrees of
+Providence, that God has already provided a terrible punishment for Lady
+Louisa Morland. What is the name of her son?"
+
+"I do not know. I forgot to ask."
+
+"I have a wide experience of the _jeunesse dorée_ of London. Hardly a
+week passed during many years of my life that one of his type did not
+appear before me in the dock. What is he--a _roué_, a gambler, probably
+a drunkard?"
+
+"All these, I gathered from the solicitors."
+
+"And if your mother were living, what would she say to Lady Morland?"
+
+"She would pity her from the depths of her heart. Yes, Abingdon, you are
+right. My uncle's wife has chosen her own path. She must follow it, let
+it lead where it will. I will write to Messrs. Sharpe & Smith now. But
+step into my dressing room with me for a moment, will you?"
+
+In a corner of the spacious apartment to which he led his guest stood a
+large safe. Philip opened it. Within were a number of books and
+documents, but in a large compartment at the bottom stood a peculiar
+object for such a repository--an ordinary, leather portmanteau. He
+lifted it onto a couch and took a key from a drawer in the safe.
+
+"This is one of my treasures which you have never seen," he said, with a
+sorrowful smile. "It has not been in the light for many years."
+
+He revealed to his friend's wondering eyes the tattered suit, the
+slipshod boots, the ragged shirt and cap, the rusty doorkey, associated
+with that wonderful month of March of a decade earlier. He reverently
+unfolded some of his mother's garments, and his eyes were misty as he
+surveyed them.
+
+But from the pocket of the portmanteau he produced a packet of soiled
+letters. One by one he read them aloud, though he winced at the
+remembrance of the agony his mother must have endured as she
+experienced each rebuff from Lady Morland and her husband's solicitors.
+
+Yet he persevered to the end.
+
+"I wanted a model for a brief communication to Messrs. Sharpe & Smith,"
+he said, bitterly. "I think the general purport of their correspondence
+will serve my needs admirably."
+
+As he closed the Gladstone bag his stern mood vanished.
+
+"Do you know," he said, "that this odd-looking portmanteau, always
+locked and always reposing in a safe, has puzzled my valets
+considerably? One man got it out and tried to open it. I caught him in
+the act. I honestly believe both he and the others were under the
+impression that I kept my diamonds in it."
+
+"By the way, that reminds me of a request from Isaacstein. As all the
+smaller diamonds have now been disposed of, and there remain only the
+large stones, he thinks that some of them might be cut into sections.
+They are unmarketable at present."
+
+"Very well. Let us appoint a day next week and overhaul the entire
+collection. I intend to keep the big ones to form the center ornaments
+of a tiara, a necklace, and gewgaws of that sort."
+
+"I am glad to hear it."
+
+"My dear fellow, I suppose there will be a Mrs. Anson some day, but I
+have not found her yet."
+
+    "'Who'er she be,
+      That not impossible she,
+      That shall command my heart and me.'"
+
+And a ripple of laughter chased away the last shadows from his face.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV.
+
+_An Adventure._
+
+
+Mr. Abingdon took his departure at an early hour; his excellent wife was
+indisposed, and her age rendered him anxious.
+
+Philip wrote a curt letter to Sharpe & Smith. He had given thought to
+their statements, he said, and wished to hold no further communication
+with either Sir Philip Morland or his representatives.
+
+Then he ordered his private hansom, intending to visit the Universities'
+Club.
+
+It was a fine evening, one of those rare nights when _blasé_ London
+abandons herself for an hour to the delights of spring. The tops of
+omnibuses passing through Park Lane were enlivened by muslin dresses and
+flower-covered hats. Men who passed in hansoms wore evening dress
+without an overcoat. Old earth was growing again, and if weather-wise
+folk predicted that such an unusually high temperature meant
+thunderstorms and showers it would indeed be a poor heart that did not
+rejoice in the influences of the moment.
+
+Two powdered and noiseless footmen threw open the door as Philip
+appeared in the hall. He stood for a little while in the entrance
+buttoning his gloves. A strong electric light--he loved light--fell on
+him and revealed his firm face and splendidly proportioned frame.
+
+He cast a critical eye on a sleek horse in the shafts, and smiled
+pleasantly at the driver.
+
+"Good gracious, Wale," he said, "your cattle are becoming as fat as
+yourself."
+
+"All your fault, sir," was the cheerful reply. "You don't use 'em 'arf
+enough."
+
+"I can't pass my time in being driven about town to reduce the weight of
+my coachman and horses. Wale, if you don't do something desperate, there
+will be an 'h' after the 'w' in your name."
+
+He sprang into the vehicle. With a lively "Kim up!" Wale got his stout
+steed into a remarkably fast trot.
+
+A tall man, who had been loitering and smoking beneath the trees across
+the road for a long time, sauntered toward a tradesman's cart which was
+standing near the area gate of the next house, while the man in charge
+gossiped with a kitchenmaid.
+
+"Beg pardon," he said to the couple, "is that Mr. Philip Anson's place?"
+with an indicatory jerk of his thumb.
+
+"Yes," said the man.
+
+"An' was that Mr. Anson himself who drove away in a private cab?"
+
+"Yes," said the girl.
+
+"Thanks. It does one good to see a young chap like him so jolly and
+comfortable, and provided with everything he can want in the world; eh?"
+
+"I wish I 'ad a bit of 'is little lot," sighed the greengrocer's
+assistant, with a side glance at the maid.
+
+The stranger laughed harshly.
+
+"It's hard to say when ye're well off," he growled. "Up one day and
+down the other. You never know your luck."
+
+Away he went, southward. His long vigil on the pavement near the
+railings seemed to have ended. In Piccadilly he took an omnibus to the
+Circus, and there changed to another for the Elephant and Castle.
+
+He walked rapidly through the congeries of mean streets which lie to the
+east of that bustling center, and paused at last before a house which
+was occupied by respectable people, judging by the cleanly curtains and
+general air of tidiness.
+
+He knocked. A woman appeared. Did Mrs. Mason live there? No. She knew
+nothing of her. Had only been in the place eighteen months.
+
+The man evidently appreciated the migratory habits of the poor too well
+to dream of prosecuting further inquiries among the neighbors. He
+strolled about, reading the names over the small shops, the corner
+public house, the dressmakers' semiprivate residences.
+
+At last he paused before a somewhat grim establishment, an undertaker's
+office. He entered. A youth was whistling the latest music hall song.
+
+"Do you know anything of a Mrs. Mason, who used to live in this locality
+about ten years ago?" he asked.
+
+"Mrs. Mason? There may be forty Mrs. Masons. What was her Christian name
+an' address?"
+
+"Mrs. Hannah Mason, 14 Frederick Street."
+
+The youth skillfully tilted back his stool until he reached a ledger
+from a shelf behind him. He ran his eye down an index, found a number,
+and pulled out another book.
+
+"We buried her on the twentieth of November, nine years since," he
+said, coolly, rattling both tomes back into their places.
+
+"You did, eh? Is there anybody here who remembers her?"
+
+Something in the husky voice of this stark, ill-favored man caused the
+boy to become less pert.
+
+"Father's in," he said. "I'll ring for him."
+
+Father came. He had a vague memory of the woman, a widow with two
+children--boys, he thought. Somebody helped her in her last days, and
+paid for the funeral--paid cash, according to the ledger. He did not
+know who the friend was, nor had he any knowledge of the children's
+fate. Workhouse, most probably. What workhouse? Parish of Southwark.
+Easy to find. Just turn so-and-so, and so-and-so.
+
+With a grunt of acknowledgment the inquirer passed into the street. He
+gave an eye to the public house, but resolutely quickened his pace. At
+the workhouse he succeeded, with some difficulty, in interviewing the
+master. It was after office hours, but as he had journeyed a long way an
+exception would be made in his case.
+
+Books were consulted to ascertain the fate of two boys, John and William
+Mason, who would now be aged twenty and eighteen respectively. Youthful
+Masons had certainly been in the schools--one was there at the moment,
+in fact--but none of them answered to the descriptions supplied. The
+workhouse master was sorry; the records gave no clew.
+
+Again the man sought the dark seclusion of the street. He wandered
+slowly toward a main thoroughfare, and entered the first public house he
+encountered. He ordered six pennyworth of brandy, and drank it at a
+gulp. Then he lit a pipe and went forth again.
+
+"That was an ugly-lookin' customer," said an _habitué_ to the barman.
+
+"'E 'ad a fice like a fifth act at the Surrey," agreed the other.
+
+If they knew the toast that Jocky Mason had pledged so readily, they
+would have better grasped the truth of this unfavorable diagnosis of his
+character.
+
+"Ten years' penal servitude, four years' police supervision, my wife
+dead, and my children lost, all through a smack on the head given me by
+Philip Anson," he communed. "Here's to getting even with him!"
+
+It was a strange outcome of his long imprisonment that the man should
+have acquired a fair degree of culture. He was compelled to learn in
+jail, to a certain extent, and reading soon became a pleasure to him.
+Moreover, he picked up an acquaintance with a smooth-spoken mate of the
+swell mobsman and long firm order--a dandy who strove to be elegant even
+in convict garb. Mason's great strength and indomitable courage appealed
+to the more artistic if more effeminate rogue; once the big man saved
+his comrade's life when they were at work in the quarries.
+
+The influence was mutual. They vowed lasting friendship. Victor Grenier
+was released six months before Mason, and the latter now crossed the
+river again to go to an address where he would probably receive some
+news of his professed ally's whereabouts.
+
+Grenier's name was imparted under inviolable confidence as that which he
+would adopt after his release. His real name, by which he was convicted,
+was something far less aristocratic.
+
+Philip's driver, being of the peculiar type of Londoner which seems to
+be created to occupy the dicky of a hansom, did not take his master down
+Park Lane, along Piccadilly, and so to Pall Mall. He loved corners. Give
+him the remotest chance of following a zigzag course, and he would
+follow it in preference to a route with all the directness of a Roman
+road.
+
+Thus it happened, as he spun round Carlos Place into Berkeley Square, he
+nearly collided with another vehicle which dashed into the square from
+Davies Street.
+
+Both horses pulled up with a jerk, there was a sharp fusillade of what
+cabmen call "langwidge," and the other hansom drove on, having the best
+of the strategical position by a stolen yard.
+
+Philip lifted the trapdoor.
+
+"Has he a fare, Wale?"
+
+"Yes, sir, a lydy."
+
+"Oh. Leave him alone, then. Otherwise, I would have liked to see you
+ride him off at the corner of Bruton Street."
+
+Wale, who was choleric, replied with such force that Philip tried to
+say, sternly:
+
+"Stop that swearing, Wale."
+
+"Beg pawdon, sir, I'm sure, but I wouldn't ha' minded if it wasn't my
+own old keb. Didn't you spot it?"
+
+"You don't tell me so. How odd!"
+
+"And to think of a brewer's drayman like that gettin' 'old of it.
+Well----"
+
+Wale put the lid on in case his employer might hear any more of his
+sentiments.
+
+Philip, leaning back to laugh, for Wale's vocabulary was amusing, if
+not fit for publication, suddenly realized the queer trick that even the
+events in the life of an individual have of repeating themselves.
+
+In one day, after an interval of many years, he had been suddenly
+confronted by personages connected with the period of his sufferings,
+with the very garments he wore at that time, with the cab in which he
+drove from Clerkenwell to Hatton Garden. Abingdon had dined with him;
+Isaacstein had sent him a message; his driver, even, was the cabman who
+made him a present of two shillings, a most fortunate transaction for
+Wale, as it led to his selection to look after Philip's London stable.
+
+All who had befriended the forlorn boy in those early days had benefited
+to an extraordinary degree. The coffee-stall keeper who gave him coffee
+grounds and crusts, the old clothes man who cut down the price of his
+first outfit, Mrs. Wrigley, going hopelessly to her toil in a Shepherd's
+Bush laundry; Mr. Wilson, of Grant & Sons, the kindly jeweler of Ludgate
+Hill, were each sought out, and either placed in a good business or
+bounteously rewarded for the services they had rendered. O'Brien, of
+course, was found a sinecure office at the Mary Anson Home.
+
+As for the doctor, he owed his Harley Street practice to the
+millionaire's help and patronage.
+
+It is worthy of note that Philip never wore a watch other than that
+presented to him by the police of the Whitechapel Division.
+
+It was an ordinary English silver lever, and he carried it attached to a
+knotted bootlace.
+
+Did he but know how far the historical parallel had gone that day--how
+Jocky Mason had waited for hours outside his residence in the hope of
+seeing him and becoming acquainted with his appearance--he might have
+been surprised, but he would never have guessed the evil that this man
+would accomplish, and, in some measure, accomplish unconsciously.
+
+He was not in his club five minutes when a friend tackled him for a
+concert subscription.
+
+"Anson, you are fond of music. Here is a new violinist, a Hungarian, who
+wants a start. I heard him in Budapest last autumn. He is a good chap.
+Take some stalls."
+
+Philip glanced at the program.
+
+"Eckstein at the piano. I see! He must be a star. Who is the soprano? I
+have never heard her name before."
+
+"Miss Evelyn Atherley," read his friend over his shoulder. "I don't know
+her myself. Dine with me here to-morrow night. We will go and hear the
+performance afterward."
+
+"Can you distribute stalls among your acquaintances?"
+
+"My dear fellow, I will be delighted. Sorry I can't help Jowkacsy a bit
+myself."
+
+"You are helping him very well. I will take a dozen; two for you and me;
+ten elsewhere, for the claque."
+
+"You _are_ a good chap. Hello! There's Jones. Jones is good for a
+couple. Don't forget to-morrow night."
+
+And the good-natured enthusiast, who was a terror to many of his
+friends, ran off to secure another victim.
+
+Philip had sent his hansom home. Shortly before eleven he quitted the
+club, intending to walk to Park Lane by a circuitous route, long enough
+to consume a big cigar.
+
+He chanced to pass the hall in which the concert was to take place. A
+few people were hurrying from the stage door. Evidently a rehearsal had
+just taken place. A short man, with a huge cluster of flowing locks,
+that offered abundant proof of his musical genius, ran out with a violin
+case in his hand.
+
+He was about to enter a hansom waiting near the curb, but the driver
+said:
+
+"Engaged, sir."
+
+The man did not seem to understand, so the cabby barred his way with the
+whip and shook his head. Then the stranger rushed to a neighboring cab
+rank--evidently an excitable gentleman, with the high-strung temperament
+of art.
+
+A lady quitted the hall a few seconds later.
+
+"Are you engaged?" Philip heard her ask the cabman.
+
+"No, miss."
+
+"Take me to No. 44, Maida Crescent, Regent's Park," she said. After
+arranging her skirts daintily, she entered the vehicle.
+
+"That is odd," thought Philip, who had witnessed both incidents in the
+course of a six yards' walk. He glanced at the cabman, and fancied the
+man gave a peculiar look of intelligence toward a couple of fashionably
+dressed loungers who stood in the shadow of the closed public entrance.
+
+The two men, without exchanging a word to Philip's hearing, went to a
+brougham standing at some little distance. They entered. The coachman,
+who received no instructions, drove off in the same direction as the
+hansom, and, as if to make sure he was being followed, the cab driver
+turned to look behind him.
+
+Once, in Naples, Philip saw a man stealthily following a woman down an
+unlighted alley. Without a moment's hesitation he went after the pair,
+and was just in time to prevent the would-be assassin from plunging an
+uplifted stiletto into the woman's back. The recollection of that little
+drama flashed into his mind now; there was a suggestion of the
+Neapolitan bravo's air in the manner in which these men stalked a girl
+who was quite unaware of their movements.
+
+He asked himself why a cabman should refuse one fare and pick up another
+in the same spot. The affair was certainly odd. He would see further
+into it before he dismissed it from his thoughts. The distance to Maida
+Crescent was not great.
+
+While thinking he was acting. He sprang into the nearest hansom.
+
+"A brougham is following a hansom up Langham Place," he said to the
+driver. "Keep behind them. If they separate, follow the brougham. When
+it stops, pull up at the best place to avoid notice."
+
+The man nodded. Nothing surprises a London cabman. Soon the three
+vehicles were spinning along the Outer Circle.
+
+It was not a very dark night, the sky being cloudless and starlit. Away
+in front, at a point where the two lines of lamps curved sharply to the
+right and vanished amidst the trees, a row of little, red lights showed
+that the road was up.
+
+The leading hansom drove steadily on. There was nothing remarkable in
+this. When the driver reached the obstruction, he would turn out of the
+park by the nearer gate--that was all.
+
+But he did nothing of the kind. There was a sudden crash of wood, a
+woman's scream, and the horse was struggling wildly amidst a pile of
+loose, wooden blocks, while one wheel of the cab dropped heavily into a
+shallow trench.
+
+Simultaneously the brougham pulled up and its two occupants rushed to
+the scene of the accident.
+
+Philip's driver, of course, obeyed instructions, but he shouted to his
+fare as he jumped into the road:
+
+"That feller's either drunk or 'e did it a-puppuss."
+
+Philip was of the same opinion. He reached the overthrown barricade
+almost as soon as the two hurrying men in front, both of whom were in
+evening dress.
+
+One of them held the horse's head and steadied him; the other was just
+in time to help the young lady to leave her dangerous conveyance.
+
+"I hope you have received no injury, madam," he said, politely.
+
+"Oh, not at all. I was frightened for an instant. How could it have
+happened? I saw the lamps quite plainly. The man seemed to pull his
+horse deliberately into the barrier."
+
+The voice was singularly sweet and well modulated. A neighboring arc
+lamp illuminated the girl's face with its white, unpitying radiance. It
+revealed features beautifully modeled, and large, startled eyes that
+looked wonderingly from the man who came so promptly to her rescue to
+the driver who had caused the mishap. Philip, behind the hansom, was
+unseen. He remained a critical observer.
+
+"I fear he is intoxicated," was the reply. "Here, you! How came you to
+make such a blunder?"
+
+"Blind as an owl," came the gurgling answer. "I saw some red spots
+dancin' abaht, but I thort it must be that larst gill o' beer."
+
+Nevertheless the cabman extricated his horse and vehicle from their
+predicament with singular ease for a half-drunken man.
+
+"Goin' on, miss?" he grinned. "There's nothin' extry for the
+steeplechise."
+
+"No, no," cried the lady. "I will walk. I will pay you now."
+
+"Take my advice and pay him not a cent," protested the man by her side.
+"Leave him to me. My friend here will take his number. If you will
+accept a seat in my brougham----"
+
+The cabman began to swear and threaten them all with personal violence.
+The lady, clearly unwilling to avail herself of the accommodating offer
+made to her, tried to edge away. The driver of the hansom whipped his
+horse on to the pavement. By this time he had turned his back to the
+road-menders' barrier.
+
+The girl, angered and alarmed, shrank toward the gentleman, who seemed
+to give her some measure of protection from the infuriated cause of all
+the trouble.
+
+"Do step into my brougham," he said, civilly. "Victor, just grab the
+gee-gee's head again, and keep that idiot quiet until we get away. Now,
+madam, take my advice. You will be quite safe instantly."
+
+Even yet she hesitated. There was, perchance, a timbre in the quiet,
+cultured tone of the speaker that did not ring truly. The note of a bell
+cannot be perfect if there is a flaw in the metal, and the human voice
+often betrays a warped nature when to all outward seeming there is a
+fair exterior.
+
+The man who addressed her was youthful, not much older than herself. He
+was evidently a gentleman, with the polish and easy repose of society.
+His words, his attitude, were in the best of taste. Yet----
+
+A loud altercation broke out between the cabman and "Victor." The latter
+did not appear to be so ready to lay hands on the reins again, and the
+whip fell viciously on the horse's flank, causing him to plunge forward
+in dangerous proximity to the couple on the sidewalk. He came close, but
+not too close. Philip was now quite certain that he was witnessing the
+dexterous display of a skilled driver.
+
+"Really, I am at a loss for words to persuade you that your only course
+is to use my carriage. Otherwise there will be a confounded row."
+
+The stranger's voice was a trifle petulant She was such an unreasonable
+young lady. She turned to him irresolutely--to find Philip at her
+side--thrusting himself in front of her would-be rescuer.
+
+"You have been the victim of a plot, madam," he said. "Your driver is
+not drunk. He caused the accident purposely. These two scoundrels are in
+league with him. If----"
+
+"What the devil----" cried the other, fiercely, but Philip swung him
+bodily against the iron railings.
+
+"If you care to take my cab, alone, it is at your service. I will look
+after these cads."
+
+His quick eyes caught a signal from Victor to the cabman. He was sorry
+for the horse, but this comedy must be stopped. He instantly caught the
+bridle, and backed the cab violently toward the excavation. The cabman
+lashed at him in vain, and swore, too, with remarkable fluency for one
+so drunk. Both wheels crunched on top of the stout barrier, and became
+locked there.
+
+Then Anson ran back toward the girl, whose arm was held by the owner of
+the brougham.
+
+"Take your hands off that lady, or I will hurt you," said Philip, and
+there was that in his emphatic order which brooked no delay.
+
+The stranger dropped his restraining hand, but shouted furiously:
+
+"By what right do you interfere? I am only offering the lady some
+assistance?"
+
+Philip ignored him.
+
+"What do you say, madam?" he inquired, somewhat sternly, for she seemed
+loath to trust any of them. "Will you occupy my cab? It is there. Rest
+assured that neither of these men shall follow you."
+
+She stood her ground, came nearer to him.
+
+"I believe you," she murmured. "I thank you from my heart. It is
+inexplicable that such wretches can exist as these two seeming
+gentlemen, who stooped to such artifice against a helpless woman."
+
+"Most fortunately I saw you leaving the Regent's Hall," he replied.
+"This cab was waiting for you, and you only. The man refused at least
+one fare to my presence. The others followed in a brougham. Do you know
+them?"
+
+"No. I have never, to my knowledge, seen either of them before in my
+life. How came you----"
+
+"I happened to hear your address. I will write to you and explain. Go
+now," he quickly interrupted, for Victor and his friend were
+approaching them after a hasty conference.
+
+"Leave you to deal with these assassins alone! Not I! I can defend
+myself. I can help you. I will scream for assistance. There are too many
+of them for you to resist them single-handed."
+
+Philip vowed afterward that fire flashed in her eyes. There was a
+splendid passion in the gesture with which she pointed to the enraged
+hansom driver, who had climbed from his perch, and was running to join
+his employers.
+
+This was a new experience for Philip, and the blood leaped in his veins
+at the girl's courageous words. But he laughed, in his pleasant, musical
+way.
+
+"Men who would attack a defenseless woman," he said, "are poor creatures
+where a man's heart is needed. Now just watch me, and don't be alarmed."
+
+He strode to meet the advancing trio. They halted.
+
+"I give you a last warning," he cried. "Drive off in your carriage, and
+you," to the cabman, "go back and help your horse. You must go now, this
+instant, or take the consequences."
+
+There was the silence of indecision. This strong-faced man, with the
+figure of an athlete, meant what he said.
+
+Victor caught his friend's arm.
+
+"Come away," he whispered. "She does not know you. You have failed this
+time."
+
+Without another word the pair crossed the road to their waiting
+brougham. The cabman, who became remarkably sober, began to whine:
+
+"It's on'y a lark, guv'nor. The lydy would ha' took no 'arm. I didn't
+mean----"
+
+Philip was strongly tempted to kick him, but refrained. He grasped the
+man's shoulder and lifted his badge to the light.
+
+"I will spare you for the lady's sake," he said, grimly, "but I want
+your number, in case you try any more such tricks."
+
+"My Gawd, it's Mr. Anson!"
+
+For the first time the driver saw Philip's face clearly.
+
+"Ah, you know me then? Who were those blackguards who employed you?"
+
+"S'elp me, sir, I on'y know one of 'em. 'E's a Mr. Victor Grenier. I
+offen pick 'im up at the Gardenia. 'E said 'is pal was sweet on the
+young lydy an' wanted a put-up job ter 'elp 'er. That's all, guv'nor, on
+me life."
+
+"You ought to be ashamed of yourself," was Philip's only comment.
+
+He rejoined the girl, who was watching the retreating brougham.
+
+"Now," he cried, pleasantly, "you can go home."
+
+"Please drive me there. I will not deprive you of your cab."
+
+So they drove away together, and the driver of the hansom, striving to
+free his vehicle from the broken trestles, paused to scratch his head.
+
+"'E fairly bested the crowd," he growled, "an' got the girl as well. My
+eye, but she's a beauty."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV.
+
+_A Face From the Past._
+
+
+Maida Crescent was little more than half a mile beyond the park.
+
+Philip thought it due to the lady he had beguiled that she should know
+exactly how he came to interfere in her behalf. She listened in silence,
+and when she spoke, there was a suggestion of shy nervousness oddly at
+variance with her spirited action of a few minutes earlier.
+
+"I cannot understand it at all," she said. "I am seldom out so late. My
+professional engagements are few and far between, I am sorry to say."
+
+"Were you attending a rehearsal at the Regent's Hall?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"A rehearsal for Monsieur Jowkacsy's concert?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+She volunteered no further information, but Philip was a persistent
+person.
+
+"I do not remember another day in my life previously," he said, "when so
+many fortuitous events grouped themselves together in such a curious
+relationship. Even this adventure is a sequel to a prior incident. Just
+before I joined in the chase after you I had purchased some tickets for
+Jowkacsy's musicale. The strangest item of all is that I was practically
+walking away from the direction in which I live when my attention was
+drawn to the cabman's behavior."
+
+"Good gracious!" she protested, "am I taking you out of your way? I
+thought you merely happened to be driving after us through the park."
+
+She invited no confidences. She adhered strictly to the affair of the
+moment, and he had no option but to follow her cue.
+
+"I do not think I have ever been in Regent's Park before."
+
+"What an amazing circumstance--that you should gallop off in such
+fashion to the rescue of an unknown woman, I mean."
+
+"That, again, is original, or nearly so."
+
+"Are you a Londoner?"
+
+"To some extent--a little while each year. I live mostly on the sea."
+
+"Oh, that accounts for your gallantry. You are a sailor."
+
+"A yachtsman," corrected Philip.
+
+"How delightful. I have not even seen the sea for ages. One has to work
+so hard nowadays to obtain recognition. I do not object to the work, for
+I love music, but the bread-and-butter aspect is disagreeable,
+and--and--you have learned to-night how even the small amount of
+publicity I have achieved brings with it the risk of insult."
+
+"By the way," he said, quietly, striving not to add to the excitement
+under which she was certainly laboring, "one of those men is named
+Victor Grenier. You ought to know."
+
+"Thank you. How did you ascertain it?"
+
+"The cabman told me. He knew me."
+
+"The cabman knew you?"
+
+"Yes. I fly about town in hansoms. I am too lazy to walk."
+
+He regretted the slip. He was known to the tribe of Jehus on account of
+his generosity to their charities; moreover, was not one of the order
+his horse-master?
+
+The girl laughed, with a delightful merriment that relieved the tension.
+
+"You acted like an indolent person," she cried. "Do you know, I felt
+that you would have banged the heads of those men together in another
+instant."
+
+Their vehicle slackened pace, and curved toward the pavement in a quiet
+street.
+
+"Here I am at home," she said, and Philip assisted her to alight.
+
+"Oh, my music!" she wailed, suddenly. "I left it in that horrid cab."
+
+Philip repressed a smile.
+
+"Tell me your name," he said, "and I will recover it for you early in
+the morning."
+
+"Are you sure? Oh, what a trouble I have been. How good you are."
+
+"It is not the least trouble. I took the cabman's number."
+
+"Indeed, indeed, I am grateful to you. My name is Evelyn Atherley. I
+would ask you to call some day and see my mother, but--but----"
+
+"You do not wish her to hear of your adventure to-night? It would
+frighten her."
+
+"She would be terrified each time I went out alone. Believe me, I can
+ill afford a hansom, but I take one late at night to please her, as the
+walk from the nearest 'bus route is lonely."
+
+"You are singing at the Regent's Hall. I will be there. By the way, my
+name is Philip Anson."
+
+The girl's big eyes--he fancied they were blue, but in the dim light he
+could not be sure--looked into his. There was a sparkle of merriment in
+them, he thought--a quick perception of a hint delicately conveyed. But
+she said, quite pleasantly:
+
+"My last song is at ten-fifteen. I will leave the hall at ten-thirty. I
+hope my mother will be with me. I will be most pleased to see you there,
+and thank you more coherently than is possible now, especially if you
+recover my music."
+
+The quick trot of a fast-driven horse came round the corner.
+
+Philip was assuring her that they would certainly meet next evening,
+when a hansom pulled up behind the waiting vehicle, and the driver said:
+
+"Beg pawdon, miss, you left this," and he held forth the lost portfolio.
+The cabman was anxious to atone for his share in the night's
+proceedings.
+
+Philip tipped him in a manner that caused the man to murmur his renewed
+regret, but he was sternly told to go. Philip's own reward from Miss
+Atherley was a warm handshake, and a grateful smile.
+
+He drove homeward, wondering how he could best help her in her career.
+
+And she, after kissing her mother "Good-night," went to her room to
+wonder also, but her wonderment was mixed with regret. For such a nice
+young man as Philip Anson must have troops of friends, he must be rich,
+he must be far removed from the orbit of a girl who, whatever her birth
+and breeding, was driven in the flower of her youth to earn her living
+on the concert platform.
+
+Jowkacsy won his laurels with superb ease. Philip, listening to the
+Polish genius, found himself hoping that the fair English girl might
+achieve some measure of the rapturous applause bestowed on the
+long-haired enthusiast. He murmured the thought, in guarded commonplace,
+to his musical friend.
+
+"Impossible, my dear fellow," was the instant verdict. "She is mediocre;
+just an average singer, and no more. Music is divine, but its exploiters
+suffer from the petty jealousies of housemaids. Jowkacsy can have no
+rivals to-night. Eckstein is a master, of course, but a necessary evil
+as an accompanist. The other artists are mere fill-ups--good, or they
+would not be here, but not in the front rank. Listen. I am connected
+with a choral society in my county, and we once engaged a leading tenor
+and a second-rate baritone. The tenor had a name with fourteen letters,
+and the baritone only owned four. The unfortunate local printer selected
+his type to fill the lines on the bills by size and not by merit. The
+moment the tenor saw the four-letter man looming large across the poster
+he absolutely refused to sing a note unless fresh bills were printed
+with his fourteen letters in larger type. And we were compelled to humor
+him. That is music from the agent's point of view."
+
+When Miss Evelyn Atherley advanced to the front of the platform Philip
+thought he had never seen a woman so beautiful. She had the grace of a
+perfect figure and the style of an aristocrat. She was dressed in light
+blue chiffon, with a spray of forget-me-nots, the color of her eyes,
+arranged across the front of her bodice. Anson experienced a thrill of
+pleasure when he saw that the bouquet he caused to be forwarded to her
+contained flowers of a kindred hue. The skill of the florist had
+correctly interpreted his description, which, indeed, was largely
+guesswork on his part.
+
+A high forehead and a mouth and chin of patrician mold gave an air of
+caste to an otherwise sweetly pretty face.
+
+"By Jove!" whispered the critic, "if she sings as well as she looks I
+may be mistaken."
+
+Her first song was Goring Thomas' "A Summer Night." Instantly it was
+perceptible that her voice was true, the outpouring of a soul. In volume
+it was in no way remarkable, but its melodious cadence was fresh,
+innocent, virginal. The notes were those of a joyous bird.
+
+Anson, biassed by other sentiments, thought he had never heard her
+equal, but his friend, after joining in his vigorous applause, gave him
+a douche of accurate judgment.
+
+"The old story," he growled; "a fine artist retarded, perhaps spoiled,
+by the need to make too early an appearance. She wants a year in Milan,
+another year with Randegger or Leoni, and she might, if all went well,
+be a star."
+
+His hearer chafed inwardly, but only hazarded the opinion that she was
+already a singer of rare intensity, while, as for appearance----
+
+"Ah, there you are right," was the ready rejoinder. "The Gaiety is her
+right place. She would be admirable in light opera."
+
+The conversation languished. The suggestion that Miss Atherley was best
+fitted for the stage was displeasing to Philip, he scarce knew why.
+
+The girl was given a hearty encore, and her next song was a simple,
+humorous little ballad about a miller and a maid. It was charmingly sung
+and acted. The critic leaned back in his chair, and smiled at Philip
+with the indulgent air of the man who says:
+
+"I told you so."
+
+Soon Philip rose to go.
+
+"Good heavens, man, you do not intend to leave before Jowkacsy plays the
+suite in F minor?" queried his amazed acquaintance.
+
+"Sorry. I have an engagement."
+
+He quitted the hall, his tall figure riveting a good many eyes as he
+made his way toward an exit. One man, watching from the gallery, smiled
+cynically, and rose at the same time.
+
+Philip found the foyer to be practically deserted. He asked a policeman
+on duty to call Mr. Anson's carriage from the ranks, and a footman came,
+quickly running lest he had incurred a reprimand for not being on the
+lookout for his master at the entrance.
+
+In a very little time Miss Atherley appeared, and with her a handsome,
+elderly lady, who was quite obviously her mother. The girl was radiant.
+She never expected a cordial reception from a high-class audience, such
+as gathered to worship the violinist.
+
+"Mother dear," she cried, "this is Mr. Anson, who very kindly came to my
+assistance when a cabman gave me some trouble last night."
+
+Mrs. Atherley gave him a pleasant greeting, but turned to her daughter.
+
+"Why didn't you tell me of any dispute when you returned home? You know
+how nervous I am when you are out at night."
+
+The girl laughed merrily.
+
+"You have answered your own question, _carissima_. That is precisely why
+I did not tell you."
+
+"Miss Atherley was good enough to permit me to meet you here after the
+concert," put in Philip, "so that I might add my assurances to her own
+that the affair was of no consequence. It is early yet. Will you come
+with me for some supper, and thus give me a chance of telling you how
+much I enjoyed your daughter's singing?"
+
+Wise Philip, to pay court to the mother.
+
+Mrs. Atherley, in no way deceived, yet gratified by the deference shown
+to her, gave the girl a questioning glance.
+
+"Oh, do let us go, mamma! I am famished, I candidly admit it. Mr. Anson,
+I have subsisted since luncheon without a morsel."
+
+"We will be delighted----" began the older lady, but her attention was
+attracted by the footman holding open the door of the carriage.
+
+"Is that carriage yours?" she said to Philip.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Where do we sup?"
+
+"At the Savoy."
+
+She flushed slightly.
+
+"Not the Savoy," she faltered.
+
+"Why not, mother?" cried the girl, spiritedly. "Mr. Anson, my mother
+does not care to meet associates of--of other days. I tell her she
+thinks far too much of these considerations. Why should she fear to face
+them simply because we are poor?"
+
+"I think, Mrs. Atherley," he said, quietly, "that you are very rich, far
+richer than many a _mère de famille_ we shall meet at the restaurant."
+
+This neat compliment turned the scale of the mother's hesitation.
+Indeed, she might well be proud of her beautiful daughter.
+
+The two ladies seated themselves in the luxurious landau with an ease
+that showed familiarity, but Mrs. Atherley, being a woman, could not
+help being troubled in the matter of dress.
+
+"The Savoy!" she murmured, as the rubber-tired vehicle glided away
+noiselessly. "I have not been there for years. And people at supper are
+always attired so fashionably. Could we not----"
+
+The girl put her arm around her waist.
+
+"Just for once, mamma, you shall not care a little bit, and none may be
+the wiser. Here is Mr. Anson--quite an _élégant_ himself--he would never
+guess that our gowns were homemade."
+
+"The women, dear one. They will know."
+
+"Oh, you deceiver! You said my toilet was perfect, and I am quite sure
+yours is."
+
+This logic was incontrovertible. Mrs. Atherley sighed, and asked what
+took place the previous night.
+
+Philip imagined that the girl hung back, so he boldly undertook an
+explanation. By describing the cabman as apparently intoxicated, and
+certainly impudent, he covered a good deal of ground, and the rest was
+easy.
+
+When they reached the Savoy, the anxious mother had relegated the
+incident to the limbo of unimportant things. Only one other matter
+troubled her--the somewhat unconventional origin of her daughter's
+acquaintance with this pleasant-mannered young gentleman.
+
+She was far too tactful to hint at such a point just then. It should be
+reserved for home discussion.
+
+Meanwhile, they were early arrivals. The head waiter marshaled them to a
+window table. Mrs. Atherley smiled; she knew her London.
+
+"You were sure we would accompany you?" she cried.
+
+"Not at all sure; only hopeful," said Philip.
+
+"Ah, well. It is good occasionally to revisit the old scenes. No, Elf, I
+will sit here; I will not be _en face_ to that row of tables. Half a
+dozen people would certainly recognize me, and I do not wish it."
+
+Elf! The name drove Philip's thoughts backward with a bound--back to a
+torrential night in a London square, and the tearing open of a carriage
+door in time to save a sweet little girl all robed in white, who, but
+for him, would have fallen with an overturned vehicle.
+
+Elf! It was an unusual pet name. The child of ten years ago would be
+about the age of the lively and spirituelle girl by his side. The child
+had faced her enraged uncle on that memorable night; the woman had
+refused to leave him when she thought danger threatened in the park.
+
+Could it be possible! He was startled, bewildered, utterly dumfounded by
+even the remote possibility that another figure from the past should
+come before him in such wise.
+
+"Mr. Anson! What have you found in the menu to perplex you so terribly?
+Does danger lurk in the _agneau du printemps_? Is there a secret horror
+in the _salmi_?"
+
+Evelyn's raillery restored his scattered wits.
+
+"May I say something personal?" he inquired.
+
+"About the lamb?"
+
+"About you? Mrs. Atherley called you 'Elf' just now."
+
+"Yes. I regret that I earned the title in ages past. The habits have
+ceased, but the name remains."
+
+"I once met a little girl named Elf. It was ten years ago, on a March
+evening, in a West End square. There had been a carriage accident. A
+pair of horses were frightened by a terrific thunderstorm. The girl was
+accompanied by a somewhat selfish gentleman. He jumped out and left her
+to her own devices; indeed, slammed the door in her face. A ragged
+boy----"
+
+"A boy with newspapers--a boy who spoke quite nicely--saved her by
+running into the road. The carriage overturned in front of Lord
+Vanstone's house. I was the girl!"
+
+Both ladies were amazed at the expression on Philip's face. He betrayed
+such eagerness, such intense longing, such keen anxiety to establish her
+identity with the child who figured in an accident of no very remarkable
+nature, that they could not help being vastly surprised.
+
+Their astonishment was not lessened when Philip exclaimed:
+
+"And I was the boy!"
+
+"But I said 'a boy with newspapers.'"
+
+"Yes, a very urchin, a waif of the streets."
+
+"My uncle struck you."
+
+"And you defended me, saved me from being locked up, in fact."
+
+"Oh, this is too marvelous. Mother, you must remember----"
+
+"My dear one, I remember the event as if it had taken place yesterday.
+Your uncle would not have cared were you killed that night. All he
+wanted was your money. Now he has that, and mine. He was, indeed, a
+wicked man."
+
+"Mother dear, he is unhappy. Are we? But, Mr. Anson, what wonderful
+change in your fortunes has taken place since our first meeting? Is the
+newspaper trade so thriving that a carriage and pair, a supper at the
+Savoy, stalls at the Regent's Hall, and a bouquet from Rosalind's, are
+mere trimmings, so to speak, to a busy day?"
+
+"Evelyn!" protested Mrs. Atherley.
+
+But the girl was too buoyant, too utterly oblivious of all that this
+meeting meant to Philip, to cease from chaffing him.
+
+"Please, Mr. Anson, do tell us the secret. I will sell any paper you
+name. I get five guineas for singing two songs, I admit, but I may only
+sing them once a month. I have loads of time to run about crying,
+'Extrey speshul! 'Orrible disawster.' Or does the magic spring from
+writing those thrilling stories one sees placarded on the hoardings? I
+believe I could do it. I once won a prize in a lady's magazine for a set
+of verses, the genuine and unaided production of a girl aged under
+fourteen."
+
+Philip compelled himself to respond to her mood. He promised to reveal
+his specific for money-making at some future period, when she was
+sufficiently dazzled to accept his words as those of a prophet.
+
+With the tact of a woman of the world, Mrs. Atherley led the
+conversation back to less personal channels. The great restaurant was
+rapidly filling now. The occupants of neighboring tables cast occasional
+glances at the merry trio which discussed the foibles of the musical
+world, the ways of agents, the little meannesses and petty spites of the
+greatest artists, and, incidentally, did ample justice to an excellent
+meal.
+
+Philip thought he had never before met such a delightful girl. Evelyn
+was quite certain that some unknown good fairy had given her this
+pleasant acquaintance, and Mrs. Atherley, after a silent spasm of regret
+that her daughter should be denied the position in the greater world for
+which she was so admirably fitted, abandoned herself to the infectious
+gayety of the younger people.
+
+Both she and Evelyn confessed to a feeling of renewed surprise when
+Philip happened to mention his London address.
+
+Whatever faults the denizens of Park Lane may possess, that of being
+unknown cannot be reckoned among them, and Mrs. Atherley, in a period
+not very remote, knew the occupants of every house in that remarkable
+thoroughfare. She could not, however, recall the name of Anson.
+
+At last a most enjoyable meal came to an end. Philip, supported most
+ably by a skilled head waiter, spun it out to the utmost possible limit,
+but the inexorable clock would not be denied.
+
+He thought the two ladies might prefer to drive home alone, so he sent
+them away in his carriage, and made an excuse that he had an appointment
+at his club. In truth, he wished to be free to walk far and fast, while
+his excited brain demanded a solution of the strange congeries of
+events which had so crowded into his life during forty-eight hours.
+
+About the time that Philip's coachman safely deposited Evelyn and her
+mother at their residence, Victor Grenier, again attired in evening
+dress and accompanied by Jocky Mason, whose huge frame was encased in a
+suit of gray tweed, entered a fashionable West End bar, and found an
+elegant young person leaning against the marble-topped counter, engaged
+in a war of wits with a barmaid.
+
+The arrival of the two men, however, put a quick stop to the badinage.
+The youth quitted the counter with a careless discourtesy that annoyed
+the girl to whom he was talking.
+
+"Well," he demanded from Grenier, "did anything happen?"
+
+"Jimmie," was the cool reply, "I told you that your stupid ruse last
+night would result in failure. Far worse, it has supplied you with a
+rival against whom you may as well give up the game at once."
+
+"Rot!" cried the other, fiercely, with an oath. "Don't irritate me. Tell
+me plainly what has gone wrong now."
+
+"She was there, and sang delightfully. 'Pon my honor, she is a pretty
+girl. But the man was there, too, and he managed to improve so well on
+the opportunity you were kind enough to provide for him, Jimmie, that
+after her show was over she and her mother met him at the main entrance,
+and they drove off together to the Savoy in a carriage and pair."
+
+"Then who the deuce is he?" demanded the angry youth.
+
+"I tell you, Jimmie, you have no earthly chance. Last night's intruder
+was none other than Mr. Philip Anson, the millionaire."
+
+"Philip Anson. Great Scott! He--of all men in the world."
+
+The younger man became very pale, and his eyes rolled in a species of
+delirious agitation. But Jocky Mason had caught the name, though he did
+not comprehend the exact subject of their discourse.
+
+"Philip Anson!" he said. "If there's anything on foot where Philip Anson
+is concerned, count me as his enemy. Curse him! Curse him to all
+eternity!"
+
+And he struck a table with his great fist until other men began to
+stare, and Grenier was forced earnestly to counsel his associates to
+control themselves in such a public place.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI.
+
+_The Master Fiend._
+
+
+"Come to my chambers," muttered the youngest of the trio. "We are fools
+to discuss such things here. It is your fault, Grenier. Why did you drop
+this bombshell on me so unexpectedly? You confounded actors are always
+looking out for a curtain. You should not try the experiment on your
+chums in a crowded bar."
+
+"Now, my dear Langdon, do be reasonable. How could I tell that the mere
+name of Philip Anson would create a scene? You look as sick as a man who
+has just been sentenced to be hanged, and my old pal Hunter seems to
+have suddenly gone mad."
+
+Indeed, his words were justified. Mr. James Crichton Langdon was
+corpselike in pallor, and Mason, alias Hunter, though his tongue was
+stilled, bore every indication of a man enraged almost beyond control.
+
+"Come away, then," said Langdon, with a horrible attempt to smile
+indifferently.
+
+"No, no. There are too many eyes here that we should leave with the air
+of a set of stage murderers. Sit down. Let us have a nip of brandy. Talk
+about racing, women, anything, for a little while, and then go out
+quietly."
+
+Grenier was right. A detective had already nudged an acquaintance and
+whispered:
+
+"The pigeon seems to be upset. And one of the hawks is in a rare
+temper, too. I'll keep an eye on that collection."
+
+He watched them through a mirror. He saw Grenier exert himself to put
+his companions in a better humor. When they went out he followed, and
+ascertained from the commissionaire at the door that they had gone
+toward Shaftesbury Avenue.
+
+By walking rapidly he sighted them again, and saw them turn into a
+doorway.
+
+"Grenier's chambers!" he said. "What a splendid nerve that fellow has.
+Reports himself coolly at Scotland Yard every month, and lives in style
+not half a mile away. How does he manage it? I must make some inquiry
+about the others."
+
+Certainly the methods of the superior scoundrels of London are peculiar.
+Grenier knew that he was a marked man in the eyes of the police. He knew
+that the particular saloon bar he affected was the rendezvous not only
+of others like himself, but of the smartest detective officers of the
+metropolitan force. Yet this was his favorite hunting ground. Where the
+carcass is there are the jackals; he would never dream of honest
+endeavor in a new land to begin life anew. The feast was spread before
+his eyes, and he could not resist it.
+
+But Grenier was a careful rogue. After a boyhood of good training and
+education, he drifted into a bad set at the beginning of his adult
+career. Once, indeed, he endeavored to put his great natural abilities
+to some reasonable use by going on the stage. The industrious hardship
+of the early years of an actor's striving were not to his liking,
+however. No sooner had he attained a position of trust as manager of a
+touring company than he tampered with moneys intrusted to his care.
+
+He was not actually found out, but suspected and dismissed. Then the
+regular gradations of crime came naturally to him. Gambling,
+card-sharping, company frauds, even successful forgery, succeeded each
+other in their recognized sequence, until, at last, came detection and a
+heavy sentence, for the authorities had long waited for him to drop into
+the net.
+
+Now that he was free, he did not intend to revisit any of His Majesty's
+convict settlements if he could help it.
+
+His wits were sharpened, his cool intellect developed, by prison life
+and associations. He personally would keep clear of the law and make
+others support him.
+
+He would depend on two classes of contributories--fools, like Langdon,
+and slow-witted criminals, like Mason. Being a really clever man, it
+would be strange if his own middle path were not kept clear of fetters.
+
+In the mystery surrounding Philip Anson's influence over these two he
+scented interesting developments. Beginning with a young rake's attempt
+to ensnare a beautiful girl, he suddenly discovered a situation pregnant
+with the potentiality of gain to himself. It did not matter to him who
+paid him, whether Anson or Langdon. He would betray one or the other, or
+both impartially.
+
+Mason he liked. The man's rugged strength of character, his
+sledge-hammer villainy, his dogged acceptance of the leadership of a
+more skilled rascal, appealed to him. Mason was a tool, and a
+hard-hitting one. He would use him, safeguard him if he could, but use
+him anyhow.
+
+In the seclusion of Grenier's small flat Langdon poured out his spleen.
+
+Anson was the bane of his life. His stepfather was Anson's uncle, and
+the old idiot recently found out certain facts concerning the life led
+by his stepson that caused a family rupture. His mother endeavored to
+patch matters with ill success, and the baronet was intent on finding
+his sister's son, and atoning to him for years of neglect by making him
+his heir.
+
+Lady Louisa concealed nothing of this from her scapegrace son. She hoped
+to frighten him by the threatened loss of supplies. But neither fright
+nor hatred could bring him to leave London, and settle down to a quiet
+life in Devonshire, when, perhaps, the elderly naturalist's fit of
+indignation might gradually wear itself out.
+
+At this crisis came his discovery of Evelyn Atherley, and a mad desire
+to win her affections. He even dreamed of persuading her to marry him,
+and by this means succeed in rehabilitating himself with Sir Philip
+Morland.
+
+The girl was well-born. Mrs. Atherley was Lord Vanstone's half-sister,
+and, although his lordship had ruined himself and his relations by his
+extravagance, the match was in every other respect suitable.
+
+He was not content with the slow formula of seeking an acquaintance in
+the ordinary way. Accustomed to speedier conquests, he confided his
+wishes to Grenier, and resented the latter's condemnation of his
+suggestion of a mock accident, in which Langdon should figure as the
+gentlemanly rescuer, as a ready means of winning the girl's grateful
+regard.
+
+The result was worse than failure. He was wild with himself, wild with
+Grenier, and reached a higher pitch of fury when Mason surlily refused
+to say what grievance he harbored against Anson.
+
+"A nice muddle I've made of everything," cried the disappointed youth,
+"and a precious lot of friends I've discovered. I tell you everything,
+place myself unreservedly in your power, and you not only let me drift
+into a stupid blunder, but decline to share your confidences with me."
+
+He rose to go, but Grenier firmly pushed him back into a chair.
+
+"Don't be a bigger fool than you are, Jimmie, and leave those who will
+help you. I told you the cab adventure was a mistake. It might go wrong
+in twenty ways and right only in one. And you must admit that I never
+heard of Anson from you until to-night."
+
+"I may be to blame," was the sulky admission, "but who is your friend
+Hunter, and why does he not be as outspoken as I?"
+
+"There are reasons. Hunter was cleaned out in Africa on account of
+Anson's manipulation of a diamond mine. He wants to get even with him.
+That should be enough for you."
+
+Mason smiled sourly at his leader's ready explanation, and Langdon saw
+only the venom in the man's face.
+
+"He ought to have said so," he muttered. "I am in no mood to be denied
+the confidence of those who act with me in this matter. In any case,
+what can we do?"
+
+Grenier procured a decanter of brandy and passed his cigarette case.
+
+"We can accomplish nothing without money."
+
+"Money! What avail is money against a millionaire?"
+
+"None, directly. You would be swamped instantly. But we must know more
+about Anson. He has servants. They can be made to talk. He has
+susceptible cooks and housemaids in Park Lane, and at whatever place he
+owns in the country. I am great with cooks and housemaids. There is a
+mystery, an unfathomable mystery, about his supply of diamonds. It must
+be probed----"
+
+"No mystery at all," snarled Jocky Mason. "He found a meteor in a slum
+called Johnson's Mews. It was cram full of diamonds. I saw some of 'em."
+
+"You saw them!"
+
+His hearers allowed all other emotions to yield to the interest of this
+astounding statement.
+
+"Yes. I don't say much. I act. You'll get no more out of me. I want none
+of your girls or property. I want Philip Anson's life, and I'll have it
+if I swing for it!"
+
+"My dear Hunter, you are talking wildly. Have another drink?"
+
+Grenier, cool as an icicle, saw unexpected vistas opening before him. He
+must be wary and collected. Here was the man who would pay, and the man
+who would dare all things.
+
+Mason's truculent determination gave hope even to Langdon. He, too,
+gifted with a certain power of vicious reasoning, saw that this new ally
+might prove useful. But he was afraid of such bold utterances, and hoped
+to achieve his purposes without binding himself even tacitly to the
+commission of a crime, for Mason not only looked, but talked murder.
+
+"I think I had better go," he said, suddenly. "Your brandy is too strong
+for my head, Grenier. Call and see me in the morning."
+
+The astute rogue whom he addressed raised no objection to his departure.
+He instantly embraced Langdon's attitude in his wider horizon.
+
+"Yes," he agreed, "let us sleep on it. We will all be better able to
+discuss matters more clearly to-morrow."
+
+Thenceforth the flat in Shaftesbury Avenue became a spider's web into
+which the flies that buzzed around Philip's life were drawn one by one,
+squeezed dry of their store of information, and cast forth again
+unconscious of the plot being woven against their master.
+
+Within a month, Grenier knew Anson's habits, his comings and goings, his
+bankers, his brokers, many of his investments, the names of his chief
+employees, the members of his yacht's crew, the topography of his Sussex
+estate. Nothing was too trivial, no detail too unimportant, to escape a
+note undecipherable to others and a niche in a retentive memory.
+
+He made a friend of one of Philip's footmen by standing treat and
+listening reverently to his views on the next day's racing. He persuaded
+one kitchen maid in Park Lane and another at Fairfax Hall that he had
+waited all his life to discover a woman he could love devotedly. It was
+a most important discovery when he unearthed in a dingy hotel the man
+whom Philip had dismissed for tampering with the locked portmanteau.
+From this worthy he first heard of the quaint adjunct to the belongings
+of the young millionaire, and judicious inquiry soon revealed that
+there was hardly a servant in Philip's employ who did not credit the
+Gladstone bag with being the repository of the millionaire's fortunes.
+
+Ordinary people will credit any nonsense where diamonds are concerned.
+Even an educated criminal like Victor Grenier believed there might be
+some foundation for the absurd theory which found ready credence among
+the domestics.
+
+He never made the error of planning a burglary or adroit robbery whereby
+the bag might come into his possession. If it did contain diamonds, and
+especially if it contained unique specimens, it was absolutely useless
+to him. But his vitals yearned for Anson's gold, and the question he
+asked himself in every unoccupied moment was how he might succeed in
+getting some portion of it into his own pocket.
+
+One day a quaint notion entered his mind, and the more he thought of it
+the more it dominated him. He was tall and well-made, if slim in figure,
+and his face had never lost the plasticity given it by his stage
+experience.
+
+He had only heard Philip's voice once, but his features and general
+appearance were now quite familiar to him, and he undertook a series of
+experiments with clothing and make-up to ascertain if he could personate
+Anson sufficiently well to deceive anyone who was not an intimate
+acquaintance. Soon the idea became a mania, and the mania absorbed the
+man's intellect. To be Philip Anson for a day, a week! What would he not
+give for the power!
+
+One evening, when Jocky Mason entered Grenier's apartments he started
+back with an oath, as a stranger approached him in the dim light and
+said:
+
+"Well, Mason, and what do you want?"
+
+The ex-burglar and man-slayer seemed to be so ready to commit instant
+murder that Grenier himself was alarmed.
+
+"Hold hard, old chap," he said, in his natural voice. "I am only trying
+an experiment on you."
+
+"What tomfoolery is this?" shouted the other, gazing at him with the
+suspicious side glance of a discomfited dog which has been startled by
+some person familiar to it in ordinary guise but masquerading in _outré_
+garments.
+
+"A mere pleasantry, I assure you. Good heavens, man, how you must hate
+this fellow, Anson, if you are so ready to slay him at sight. From your
+own story, he only acted as ninety-nine people out of a hundred would
+have done in helping the cop."
+
+"What I want to know is, why you are playing tricks on me. I won't stand
+it. I'm not built that way."
+
+"Now, Mason, be reasonable. Can I ask anybody else if I resemble Philip
+Anson when made up to represent him?"
+
+"Perhaps not, but you ought to have warned me. Besides, I am worried
+to-day."
+
+"What has happened now?"
+
+"I went to report myself at Southwark Police Station. Who should I find
+there but Bradley, the chap we used to call 'Sailor.' He is an inspector
+now, and, of course, he knew me at once."
+
+"What of that?"
+
+"He pretended to take an interest in me, and tried to lead me on to talk
+about you."
+
+"The devil he did!"
+
+"Oh, I know their ways. They can't do anything to me as long as I show
+up regularly and keep a clean slate."
+
+"But what about me?"
+
+"I said you had been a good friend--there was no use in denying that I
+was here pretty often--and that we both thought of emigrating."
+
+"Good. We will."
+
+"Not me. I have a score to settle----"
+
+"Patience, my worthy friend. Your score shall be settled in full. I
+cannot prevent it, even if I would. Do you think I have been idle, or
+that I spend Langdon's money on a wild-goose chase? Not me. Langdon has
+taken my advice at last. He has met this charmer with whom he is so
+infatuated. She almost recognized him, but he pretended such complete
+ignorance of her, and even of London, that her suspicions were quieted."
+
+"What good is that to us?"
+
+"Little, but it gave him the opportunity to try and ingratiate himself.
+He failed most completely, and why?"
+
+"How do I know? He is an ass, anyway."
+
+"Exactly. More than that, the young lady is in love with Philip Anson."
+
+"I'm not."
+
+"But he is in love with her. At first, both Mrs. Atherley and the girl
+kept him at arm's length. She was too poor, he too rich. That difficulty
+was smoothed over quite recently, and they meet now nearly every day.
+Langdon hasn't a dog's chance, and if all goes well, the happy pair will
+soon be off to Norway or Switzerland for their honeymoon."
+
+"Oh, indeed. Then where does all your clever scheming come in? Why have
+you held me back? He went to Sussex. You wouldn't let me follow him. He
+was out late several nights on his motor car along the North Road. I
+would have met him and smashed his face in with a life-preserver, but
+you held me back. What are you driving at? What's the game?"
+
+"You shall see."
+
+Grenier went to a cupboard and took out a small box. From this he
+produced a single check, and several slips of paper on which were
+written names and signatures.
+
+"That is an old check signed by Philip Anson," he said, coolly. "Here is
+his signature repeated several times for amusement. It only needs a man
+of action like you, an accomplished actor like myself, to possess the
+necessary nerve--the nerve that risks all on a supreme coup--and we will
+be not only rolling in money, but able to enjoy life pleasantly in any
+part of the world we select--even in London when the wind changes a
+little."
+
+"You must talk plainly if you want me to understand you," said Mason,
+doggedly.
+
+"Very well. You think I am somewhat like Philip Anson at this moment?"
+
+"His image, confound him!"
+
+"No, not his image. I would not humbug his friends. I might puzzle them
+for a moment, at a distance, but let them speak with me and I am done.
+It is sufficient that I resemble him. But the handwriting, that is
+good?"
+
+"First-class."
+
+"There I agree with you. My skill in that direction has been admitted by
+three bank clerks and an Old Bailey judge. And now for the coup. If you
+intend to kill this young gentleman you may as well kill him to our
+mutual advantage. There is no gain in being hanged for him
+unnecessarily, eh?"
+
+Mason glared at him in silence.
+
+"I see I must keep to the point. We must, by some means, inveigle him to
+a place where you can work your sweet pleasure on him. Ah, that
+interests you. It must be known that he is going to that place. It must
+be quite certain that he leaves it."
+
+"Leaves it!"
+
+"Yes, I, Philip Anson the second, will leave it. I will lay my plans
+quite surely. I will even telegraph my movements to his fiancée and to
+his agent, Abingdon, who used to be stipendiary magistrate at
+Clerkenwell. Now, don't interrupt. You spoil my train of thought. Philip
+Anson will live again for days after you have--er--disposed of him. By
+that time you will have established such an alibi that an archangel's
+testimony would not shake it. Then Philip Anson will disappear, vanish
+into thin air, and with him a hundred thousand or more of his own money,
+some in gold, but mostly in notes, which will have been changed so often
+as to defy anyone to trace them. As a precautionary measure, he will go
+out of his way to annoy or insult the young lady whom he intends to make
+his wife, and that alone will supply an explanation, of a sort, for his
+wish to conceal his movements. With proper management, Philip Anson
+should leave the map without exciting comment for weeks after he is
+dead, and when the weeks grow into months, people will class his
+disappearance with the other queer mysteries familiar to everyone who
+reads the newspapers. Neat, isn't it?"
+
+"Too neat. You can't do it."
+
+"Have you or I evolved the idea? Who runs the greatest risk, the man who
+strikes one blow, and hides a disfigured corpse, or he who calmly faces
+hundreds of men, and says he is Philip Anson?"
+
+"I don't care about risk, but if it comes to that, I suppose you are the
+more likely to be found out."
+
+"Thank you. You see my way at last. In any event, you are safe. Even
+suppose I am discovered, will I split on you? Will I add a charge of
+murder to one of forgery? Not much! I tell you the scheme is workable,
+not by timid bunglers, but by clever men. I admit I haven't the nerve to
+kill anybody, nor would I care to suggest this present arrangement to an
+accomplice merely to make money. But if you are resolved to end Philip
+Anson's earthly pilgrimage, I can't prevent you, and I fail to see any
+reason why I shouldn't profit by the transaction."
+
+"What about me when the thing is done?"
+
+"Oh, you are beginning to appreciate the other side of events. Now, we
+will assume that Philip Anson has been dead a couple of months, and
+Victor Grenier has amassed a fortune by a sheer run of luck on the turf,
+it is fairly evident that Victor Grenier must divvy with Jocky Mason, or
+the latter can make the world too hot to hold him, even if an old friend
+were unkind enough to refuse to disgorge unless under pressure."
+
+Mason's brows wrinkled in thought. The project sounded plausible
+enough. Determined as he was to wreak his vengeance on Philip, Grenier's
+ingenious idea not only offered him a reliable means of escape, but
+promised a rich harvest of wealth. Certainly it was worth trying. Not
+once but many times during the preceding month, Grenier had withheld the
+murderer's willing hand. When it did fall, what keener satisfaction
+could he have than the knowledge that he would be enriched by the deed?
+
+"I can't see ahead like you," said Mason, at last. "But I will obey
+orders. You tell me where and when; I will be there."
+
+Grenier shifted his feet uneasily.
+
+"I don't quite mean that," he said. "I will acquaint you with certain
+facts on which you may rely absolutely. I will forthwith act myself on
+the assumption that the real Philip Anson won't interfere with me. That
+is all."
+
+The other man guffawed most unpleasantly. This sophistry did not appeal
+to him.
+
+"Put it any way you like," he said. "You can depend on me for my part of
+the bargain."
+
+"And you can be quite certain that in a very little while we need not
+trouble our active wits any further as to the wherewithal to enjoy life.
+I have thought this idea out in all its bearings. It simply can't fail.
+Come, let us drink to a glorious future."
+
+He reached for a decanter, but a sudden knock at the door jarred the
+nerves of both men considerably.
+
+"See who is there," whispered Grenier, whose face showed white through
+the paint and grease it bore.
+
+"What about you in that rigout?" growled the stronger ruffian.
+
+"I will slip into my bedroom. Quick! See who it is."
+
+Langdon entered.
+
+"Where's Victor?" he said, eagerly.
+
+"In his room; he will be here in a moment. What's the matter? You look
+pretty glum."
+
+"I've had a piece of wretched luck. I was at Mrs. Atherley's 'At Home'
+to-day, when Anson turned up. I met him without winking, but he knew me
+at once. He called me outside and treated me like a dog."
+
+"He did, eh?"
+
+"Yes. It was no good trying to bluff him. Only on the guarantee that I
+would never meet Miss Atherley again would he consent not to expose me.
+I'm done. My last chance is gone. I have wasted my money on Grenier's
+mad notions, and was fool enough to think you meant what you said when
+you swore to have Anson's life."
+
+Grenier, who had heard every word, reappeared.
+
+"Does Philip Anson know that Mr. James Crichton Langdon is Sir Philip
+Morland's stepson?" he asked.
+
+"I can't tell. What does it matter, anyhow?"
+
+"Think, man, think! Does he even know your name?"
+
+"He can easily find it out."
+
+"Not he. This young spark has a fine sense of honor. You promised to
+keep away from the lady in future. He will never even mention you. And
+your money is not lost. It has been well spent, every farthing. Take
+care Miss Evelyn does not see you until she is heartbroken about Philip
+Anson. She will be; you can be quite sure of it. Then your opportunity
+will come."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII.
+
+_The Inmates of the Grange House._
+
+
+Philip walked on roses during those glorious days. He had found his
+mate. His life was complete. How bright the world, and how fair the
+future.
+
+The only disagreeable incident marring the utter joy of existence, and
+that only for an instant, was his encounter with Langdon at Mrs.
+Atherley's pretty flat in Mount Street.
+
+Grenier, endowed by nature with an occasional retrospective glimpse of a
+nobler character, read him correctly, when he said that Anson would
+never condescend to name the intruder in the presence of the woman he
+loved.
+
+But he did ask a servant who it was with whom he had just been
+conversing in the entrance hall, and the girl said the gentleman was a
+Mr. Langdon. No; Mrs. Atherley did not know him well. He was brought to
+her "At Home" on a previous Wednesday by a friend.
+
+Obviously Evelyn could not have more than a passing acquaintance with
+the man, or she would have recognized him herself. Her agitation that
+night in the park, the terror of a difficult situation, was enough to
+account for her failure in this respect, nor was Philip then aware that
+at her previous meeting with Lady Morland's son she entertained a
+curious suspicion, instantly dispelled by his glib manner, that Langdon
+was the man who sought to thrust his unwelcome attentions upon her.
+
+Mount Street--how came Mrs. Atherley and her daughter to return to the
+precincts of Mayfair? That was a little secret between Philip and Lord
+Vanstone.
+
+When Evelyn slyly endeavored to make her new admirer understand that
+there could be no intimacy between a millionaire and a young lady who
+was embarking on a professional career--she thought so, be it recorded;
+this is no canon of art--he seemingly disregarded the hint, but
+interviewed Lord Vanstone next morning.
+
+The conversation was stormy on one side and emphatic on the other.
+Philip had heard sufficient of Mrs. Atherley's history by judicious
+inquiry to enable him to place some unpleasant facts before his
+lordship.
+
+When the facts had been thrust down the aristocratic gorge, Anson turned
+to pleasanter topics. He informed Lord Vanstone, who bore the title as
+the third son of a marquis, that his niece's future was more important
+than his lordship's dignity. He must eat mud for her sake, and willingly
+withal.
+
+Various firms of solicitors set to work, and, marvelous to relate, Lord
+Vanstone was able to write and inform his half-sister that certain
+speculations in which he had invested her fortune were turning out well.
+A cash payment of two thousand pounds would be made to her at once, and
+she possessed an assured income of at least one thousand five hundred
+pounds per annum during the remainder of her life.
+
+The poor lady had heard these fairy tales before; indeed, some such
+story of more gorgeous proportions had converted her consols into waste
+paper.
+
+But a lawyer, not Lord Vanstone's, sent her a check for the larger
+amount, and, at a subsequent interview, affirmed the statements made by
+her unreliable relative.
+
+So she went back to her caste, and her caste welcomed her with open
+arms, and the dear woman thanked Providence for the decree that her
+daughter might now accept the attentions of any man, no matter how rich
+he might be, for she saw the drift of Philip's wishes, and, if Evelyn
+were married to him, surely all their previous trials might be deemed
+fortunate.
+
+She little dreamed that imperious Philip had ordered matters his own
+way.
+
+It was not to his thinking that his bride should come to him from the
+genteel obscurity of Maida Crescent. He would give her a great position,
+worthy of the highest in the land, and it was better for her that he
+should woo and win her from the ranks of her order.
+
+It should not be imagined that he was hasty in his decision. To his
+mind, Evelyn and he were known to each other since they were children.
+It was not by the wayward caprice of chance that he met her on the night
+of the meteor's fall, nor again, that he came to her assistance a second
+time after the lapse of years.
+
+It was his mother's work. He was faithful to her memory--she to her
+trust. Never did his confidence waver. On the day that Evelyn consented
+to marry him he showed her his mother's photograph, and told her his
+belief.
+
+The girl's happy tears bedewed the picture.
+
+"A good son makes a good husband," she murmured. "Mamma says I have
+been a good daughter, and I will try to be a good wife, Philip."
+
+Apparently these young people had attained the very pinnacle of earthly
+happiness. There was no cloud, no obstacle. All that was best in the
+world was at their feet.
+
+Some such thought flitted through Philip's active brain once when Evelyn
+and he were discussing the future.
+
+"Of course we will be busy," he said, laughing. "You are such an
+industrious little woman--what? Well--such an industrious tall
+woman--that the days won't be long enough for all you will find to do.
+As for me, I suppose I must try and earn a peerage, just to give you
+your proper place in society, and then we will grow old gracefully."
+
+"Oh, Philip," she cried, placing her hands on his shoulders. "We met
+once as children for a few minutes. Fate ordained that we should meet
+again under strange circumstances. We were separated for years. Can fate
+play us any uncanny trick that will separate us again?"
+
+"Well, sweetheart, fate, in the shape of Wale, is coming for me at six.
+Unless you wish me to send for my man and dress here----"
+
+"Sometimes I cannot quite credit my good fortune," she said, softly.
+"Tell me, dearest, how did you manage to live until you were twenty-five
+without falling in love with some other girl?"
+
+"That is ridiculously easy. Tell me how you managed to escape matrimony
+until you were twenty-two and you are answered."
+
+"Philip, I--I liked you that night I saw you in the square. You were a
+woe-begone little boy, but you were so brave, and gave me your hand to
+help me from the carriage with the air of a young lord."
+
+"And I have cherished your face in my waking dreams ever since. You
+looked like a fairy. And how you stuck up for me against your uncle!"
+
+"Tell me, what did you think of me when you saw me standing disconsolate
+in the park?"
+
+Tell, tell, tell--it was nothing but sweet questions and sweet
+assurances that this pair of turtle doves had been seeking each other
+through all eternity.
+
+Their wedding was fixed for the middle of July. Sharp work, it may be
+said, but what need was there to wait? Mr. Abingdon was greatly pleased
+with Philip's choice, and urged him to settle down at the earliest
+possible date.
+
+Mrs. Atherley, too, raised no protest. The sooner her beloved daughter
+was married, the more rapidly would life resume its normal aspect; they
+would not be long parted from each other.
+
+The young people had no housekeeping cares. Philip's mansions were
+replete with all that could be desired by the most fastidious taste. His
+yacht was brought to the Solent, so that they could run over to
+Portsmouth on a motor car to inspect her, and Evelyn instantly
+determined that their honeymoon in Etretat should be curtailed to permit
+them to go for a three-weeks' cruise around the British coast.
+
+This suggestion, of course, appealed to Philip. Nothing could be more
+delightful. He whispered in Evelyn's ear that he would hug her for the
+idea at the first available opportunity.
+
+One morning, a day of June rain, a letter reached Philip. It bore the
+printed superscription, "The Hall, Beltham, Devon," but this was struck
+out and another address substituted. It was written in a scrawling,
+wavering hand, the caligraphy of a man old and very ill. It read:
+
+     "MY DEAR PHILIP: I am lying at the point of death, so I use no
+     labored words to explain why I address you in such manner. I want
+     to tell you how bitterly I regret the injustice I showed to your
+     dear mother and my sister. If, of your charity, you will come to my
+     bedside, and assure a feeble old man of your forgiveness, I can
+     meet the coming ordeal strong in the certainty that Mary Anson will
+     not refuse what you have given in her behalf.
+
+     "Your sorrowing uncle,
+     "PHILIP MORLAND."
+
+With this piteous epistle was inclosed another.
+
+     "DEAR MR. ANSON: I join my earnest supplication to my husband's
+     that you will console his last hours with a visit. He blames
+     himself for what has happened in the past. Yet the fault was more
+     mine than his--far more. For his sake I willingly admit it. And I
+     have been punished for my sin. Ruined in fortune, with my husband
+     at death's door, I am indeed a sorrowing woman.
+
+     "Yours faithfully,
+     "LOUISA MORLAND."
+
+The angular Italian handwriting of the second letter recalled a faded
+script in his safe at that moment. The address in each case was a
+village on the Yorkshire coast, a remote and inaccessible place
+according to Philip's unaided recollection of the map. "Grange House"
+might be a farm or a broken-down manor, and Lady Morland's admission of
+reduced circumstances indicated that they had chosen the locality for
+economy's sake.
+
+These appeals brought a frown of indecision to Anson's brow. His uncle,
+and his uncle's wife, had unquestionably been the means of shortening
+and embittering his mother's life. The man might have acted in
+ignorance; the woman did not.
+
+Yet what could he do? Refuse a dying relative's last request! They, or
+one of them, refused his mother's pitiful demand for a little pecuniary
+help at a time when they were rich.
+
+And what dire mischance could have sunk them into poverty. Little more
+than two months had passed since Sir Philip Morland was inquiring for
+his--Philip's--whereabouts through Messrs. Sharpe & Smith with a view
+toward making him his heir.
+
+Was the inquiry Lady Morland's last ruse to save an encumbered estate?
+Why was all pretense of doubt as to his relationship swept aside so
+completely?
+
+He glanced again at the address on the letter, and asked a servant to
+bring him a railway guide. Then he ascertained that if he would reach
+Scarsdale that day he must leave London not later than noon. There was a
+journey of nearly seven hours by rail; no chance of returning the same
+night.
+
+He went to the library and rang up Sharpe & Smith on the telephone.
+
+A clerk assured him that Mr. Sharpe, who attended to Sir Philip
+Morland's affairs, had been summoned to Devonshire the previous day.
+
+"To Devonshire!" cried Philip. "I have just received letters from Sir
+Philip and Lady Morland from Yorkshire."
+
+"Mr. Sharpe himself is puzzled about the matter, sir. Lady Morland wrote
+from Yorkshire, but told him to proceed to Devonshire without delay."
+
+"Has there been some unexpected development affecting the estate?"
+
+"I am sorry, sir, but you will see I can hardly answer any further
+questions."
+
+Of course the clerk was right. Philip had hardly quitted the telephone
+when a note reached him by hand from Evelyn: "Please come at once. Must
+see you."
+
+He was at Mount Street in three minutes.
+
+Evelyn looked serious and began by holding out a letter to him. He
+recognized Lady Morland's writing.
+
+"Philip--those people--who behaved so badly to your mother----"
+
+"Have they dared to trouble you?"
+
+"Oh, it is so sad. Your uncle is dying. They are wretchedly poor; an
+unforeseen collapse. See." And she read:
+
+     "Of your pity, Miss Atherley, ask your affianced husband to come to
+     us, and to help us. I want nothing for myself, but the mere sight
+     of a few checks to pay tradespeople, doctor and the rest will
+     soothe Sir Philip's last hours. He is a proud man, and I know he is
+     heartbroken to think he is dying a pauper among strangers."
+
+So it ended as might be expected. Philip wired to Grange House,
+Scarsdale, to announce his coming. Accompanied by his valet, he left
+King's Cross at twelve o'clock, but his parting words to Evelyn were:
+
+"See Mr. Abingdon after luncheon, dear, and tell him what I am doing. I
+will return to-morrow; meanwhile, I will keep you informed by telegraph
+of my movements."
+
+After leaving the main line at York there was a tiresome crawl to the
+coast, broken by changes at junctions--wearying intervals spent in
+pacing monotonous platforms.
+
+At last the train reached Scarsdale at twenty minutes to seven. A few
+passengers alighted. The place was evidently a small village not given
+over to the incursions of summer visitors.
+
+A tall man, with "doctor" writ large on his silk hat and frock coat,
+approached Philip.
+
+"Mr. Anson?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"I am Dr. Williams. I have brought you a letter from Lady Morland.
+Perhaps you will read it now. I expect it explains my errand."
+
+"Sir Philip is still living?"
+
+"Yes, but sinking fast."
+
+Anson tore open the note. It was brief.
+
+     "Thank you for your prompt kindness. Dr. Williams will drive you to
+     the house. If you have brought a servant he might take your luggage
+     to the Fox and Hounds Inn, where Dr. Williams has secured rooms for
+     you. I regret exceedingly we have no accommodation here, but, in
+     any event, you will be more comfortable at the inn."
+
+He looked at the doctor. In a vague way, his voice recalled accents he
+seemed to recognize.
+
+"Is there a telegraph office here?"
+
+"Yes. We pass it. It closes at eight."
+
+"I will not be back from the Grange House before then?"
+
+"Hardly. It is a half-hour's drive."
+
+"Thank you. You will stop a moment at the telegraph office?"
+
+The doctor hesitated.
+
+"There is so little time. Is it of great importance? Of course----"
+
+"Oh, I know what to do. Green--take my traps to the Fox and Hounds Inn.
+Then go to the telegraph office and send a message in my name to Miss
+Atherley, saying: 'Arrived. Sir Philip worse.' That is all."
+
+Anson's valet saluted and left them. Dr. Williams said cheerfully:
+
+"That disposes of a difficulty. Are you ready, Mr. Anson?"
+
+They entered a ramshackle dogcart, for which the doctor apologized.
+
+"These hills knock one's conveyances to pieces. I am having a new cart
+built, but it will be done for in a couple of years. Out in all
+weathers, you see. To carry you I had to leave my man at home."
+
+The doctor himself seemed to be young and smart-looking. Evidently
+Scarsdale agreed with him, if not with his vehicles. The horse, too, was
+a good one, and they moved through a scattered village at a quick trot.
+
+They met a number of people, but Dr. Williams was talking so eagerly to
+his companion that he did not nod to any of them.
+
+As the road began to climb toward a bleak moorland he became less
+voluble, more desirous to get Anson to speak. Philip thought that the
+doctor listened to him with a curious eagerness. Probably Sir Philip and
+Lady Morland impressed him as an odd couple; he would be anxious to
+learn what sort of relative this was who had traveled from London to see
+them.
+
+Philip was in small humor for conversation. He looked forward to an
+exceedingly unpleasant interview, when his lips would utter consoling
+words to which he must strive to impart a genuine and heartfelt ring;
+that would need an effort, to say the least.
+
+The road wound its way through pines and heather, but ever upward, until
+the trees yielded to an unbroken range of open mountain, and the farms
+that nestled in nooks of the hillside disappeared wholly.
+
+Glimpses of the sea were caught where a precipitous valley tore a cleft
+in the land. On a lofty brow in front Philip saw a solitary and
+half-dismantled building.
+
+"Is that the Grange House?" he inquired.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Why on earth did two old people, one of them an invalid, select such a
+lonely residence?"
+
+"That has been puzzling me for days."
+
+"How long have they been here?"
+
+"I cannot say. I was only called in four days ago."
+
+They passed a policeman patrolling his country beat. The doctor gave him
+an affable smile. The man saluted promptly, but looked after them with a
+puzzled air. He continued to watch them at intervals until they reached
+the Grange House.
+
+Anson noticed that the track, it was a gate-guarded bridle path now,
+mounted steadily to the very threshold.
+
+"The place stands on the edge of a cliff," he said.
+
+"Yes. It was built by some recluse. The rock falls sheer, indeed slopes
+inwards to some extent, for three hundred feet."
+
+"Some day, I suppose, it will fall into the sea?"
+
+"Probably, but not in our time. Here we are. Just allow me to hitch the
+reins to the gatepost."
+
+He jumped lightly out of the dogcart.
+
+"Are there no servants?"
+
+"Only an old woman and her daughter. They are busy at this hour."
+
+Philip understood that a meal might be in preparation. He hoped not;
+personally, he could not eat there.
+
+Dr. Williams pressed the latch of an old-fashioned door. He whispered:
+
+"Be as quiet as possible. He may be asleep; if he is, it will not be for
+long, poor fellow."
+
+Indeed the doctor himself betrayed some slight agitation now. He
+perspired somewhat, and his hand shook.
+
+Anson followed him into a somber apartment, crudely furnished, half
+dining room, half kitchen. Though the light of a June evening was clear
+enough outside, the interior of the house was gloomy in the extreme.
+There were some dark curtains shrouding a doorway.
+
+"Lady Morland is in there," murmured the doctor, brokenly. "Will you go
+to her?"
+
+Philip obeyed in silence. He passed through the curtains. It was so dark
+that he imagined he must be in a passage with a door at the other end.
+
+"Can't I have a light?" he asked, partly turning toward the room he had
+just quitted.
+
+In the neglected garden at the landward front of the Grange House the
+horse stood patiently on three legs, ruminating, no doubt, on the
+steepness of hills and the excellence of pastures.
+
+Nearly an hour passed thus, in solemn quietude. Then a boy on a bicycle,
+red-faced with exertion, pedaled manfully up the hill, and through the
+gate.
+
+"I hope he's here," thought he. "It's a long way to coom for nothin'."
+
+Around his waist was a strap with a pouch bearing the king's monogram.
+He ran up to the door and gave a couple of thunderous knocks, the
+privileged rat-tat of a telegraph messenger.
+
+There was a long delay. Then a heavy step approached, and a man opened
+the door, a big, heavy-faced man, with eyes that stared dreadfully, and
+a nose damaged in life's transit.
+
+"Philip Anson, Esquire," said the boy, briskly, producing a buff-colored
+envelope.
+
+The man seemed to swallow something.
+
+"Yes; he's here. Is that for him?"
+
+"Yes, sir. Any reply?"
+
+The man took the telegram, closed the door, and the boy heard his
+retreating footsteps. After some minutes he returned.
+
+"It's too late to reply to-night, isn't it?" he inquired.
+
+"Yes, sir. It coom'd after hours, but they'd paid t' porterage i'
+Lunnon, so t' postmistress said ye'd mebbe like to hev it at yance. I've
+ridden all t' way frae Scarsdale."
+
+Late that evening, when the protracted gloaming of the north was fast
+yielding to the shadows of a cloudy night, the big man from the Grange
+House drove into Scarsdale. He pulled up at the Fox and Hounds public
+house. He wanted Mr. Green.
+
+Anson's valet came.
+
+"Your master says you are to bring his portmanteau to the Grange House
+to-night. He intends remaining there. You must get the landlord to sit
+up until you return. It will take you an hour and a half to drive both
+ways."
+
+Green was ready in five minutes. He learned that a stable boy must
+crouch at their feet to bring the dogcart back. It was the property of
+the Fox and Hounds' proprietor.
+
+Very unwillingly the horse swung off again toward the moor. There was
+little conversation. The driver was taciturn, the Londoner somewhat
+scared by the dark loneliness.
+
+At the Grange House they were met by Philip Anson. He stood in the open
+doorway. He held a handkerchief to his lips and spoke in a husky voice,
+the voice of one under the stress of great agitation:
+
+"That you, Green? Just give my bag to the driver and return to the
+village. Here is a five-pound note. Pay your bill and go back to London
+by the first train to-morrow. I stop here some few days."
+
+The astonished servant took the note. Before he could reply, his master
+turned, crossed a room feebly lighted by a dull lamp, and passed through
+a curtained doorway.
+
+Green was staring perplexedly at the house, the kitchen, his ill-favored
+companion carrying Philip's portmanteau within, when he heard his
+master's voice again, and saw him standing between the partly drawn
+curtains, with his face quite visible in the dim rays of the lamp.
+
+"Green?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"Here are my keys. Unlock the bag and take the keys with you. You
+remember the small portmanteau in my safe at Park Lane?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"Open the safe, get that bag, and send it to me to-morrow night by train
+to the Station Hotel, York."
+
+"To-morrow night, sir?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+The keys were thrown with a rattle onto a broad kitchen table. Evidently
+Mr. Anson would not brook questions as to his movements, though his few
+words sounded contradictory. Green got down, unfastened the portmanteau
+and went back to the dogcart.
+
+"They're queer folk i' t' grange," said the stable boy, as they drove
+away. "There's a barrow-night and a lady as nobody ever sees, an' a
+dochtor, an' a man--him as kem for ye."
+
+"Surely they are well known here?"
+
+"Not a bit of it. On'y bin here about a week. T' doctor chap's very
+chirpy, but yon uther is a rum 'un."
+
+Green was certainly puzzled very greatly by the unexpected developments
+of the last few minutes, but he was discreet and well trained.
+
+He liked his young master, and would do anything to serve his interests.
+Moreover, the ways of millionaires were not the ways of other men. All
+he could do was to hear and obey.
+
+He slept none the less soundly because his master chose voluntarily to
+bury himself, even for a little while, in such a weirdly tumbledown, old
+mansion as the Grange House.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII.
+
+"_Revenge is Mine; I Will Repay._"
+
+
+"Can't I have a light?" said Philip, with head screwed round to
+ascertain if the doctor were following him.
+
+Some sense, whether of sight or hearing he knew not, warned him of
+movement near at hand, an impalpable effort, a physical tension as of a
+man laboring under extreme but repressed excitement.
+
+He paid little heed to it. All the surroundings in this weird dwelling
+were so greatly at variance with his anticipations that he partly
+expected to find further surprises.
+
+Dr. Williams did not answer. Philip advanced a halting foot, a
+hesitating hand groping for a door.
+
+Instantly a stout rope fell over his shoulders, a noose was tightly
+drawn, and he was jerked violently to the stone floor of the passage. He
+fell prone on his face, hurting his nose and mouth. The shock jarred him
+greatly, but his hands, if not his arms, were free, and, with the
+instinct of self-preservation that replaces all other sensations in
+moments of extreme peril, he strove valiantly to rise.
+
+But he was grasped by the neck with brutal force, and some one knelt on
+his back.
+
+"Philip Anson," hissed a man's voice, "do you remember Jocky Mason?"
+
+So he had fallen into a trap, cunningly prepared by what fiendish
+combination of fact and artifice he had yet to learn. Jocky Mason, the
+skulking criminal of Johnson's Mews. Was he in that man's power?
+
+Under such conditions a man thinks quickly. Philip's first ordered
+thought was one of relief. He had fallen into the clutches of an English
+brigand. Money would settle this difficulty, if all other means failed.
+
+"Yes, yes," he gurgled, half-strangled by the fierce pressure on his
+throat.
+
+"You hit me once from behind. You can't complain if I do the same. You
+sent me to a living hell for ten years--not your fault that it wasn't
+forever. Lie still! Not all your money can save you now. I am judge and
+jury, and hell itself. You are dying--dying--dead!"
+
+And with the final words drawled into his ears with bitter intensity,
+Philip felt a terrible blow descend on his head. There was no pain, no
+fear, no poignant emotion at leaving all the world held so dear to him.
+There was an awful shock. A thundercloud seemed to burst in his brain,
+and he sank into the void without a groan.
+
+Now, in falling, the hard, felt hat he wore dropped in front of his
+face. The first wild movement of his head tilted it outward, but the
+savage jerk given by his assailant brought the rim slightly over his
+skull again.
+
+In the almost complete darkness of the passage, Mason could not see the
+slight protection this afforded to his victim, and the sledge-hammer
+blow he delivered with a life-preserver--that murderous implement named
+so utterly at variance with its purpose--did not reveal the presence of
+an obstacle.
+
+He struck with a force that would have stunned an ox; it must have
+killed any man, be he the hardest-skulled aborigine that ever breathed.
+But the stout rim of the hat, though crushed like an eggshell, took off
+some of the leaden instrument's tremendous impact. Philip, though quite
+insensible, was not dead. His sentient faculties were annihilated for
+the time, but his heart continued its life-giving functions, and he
+breathed with imperceptible flutterings.
+
+Mason rose, panting with excitement, glutted with satisfied hate. He
+lifted his victim's inert form with the ease of his great strength.
+
+"Come on!" he shouted, and strode toward a door which he kicked open.
+
+A step sounded haltingly in the passage. Grenier, the _soi-disant_
+doctor, livid now and shaking with the ague of irretrievable crime,
+stumbled after his more callous associate. Unconsciously he kicked
+Philip's hat to one side. He entered the room, an apartment with a
+boundless view of the sea.
+
+Here there was more light than in the kitchen. The windows faced toward
+the northwest, and the last radiance of a setting sun illumined a wall
+on the right.
+
+"Not there!" he gasped. "In this chair; his face--I must see his face!"
+
+Mason, still clasping his inanimate burden, laughed with a snarl.
+
+"Stop that," he roared. "Pull yourself together. Get some brandy. I've
+done my work. If you can't do yours, let me finish it."
+
+"Oh, just a moment! Give me time! I hate the sight of blood. Get a
+towel. Bind it round his neck. His clothes! They will be saturated. And
+wipe his face. I must see his face."
+
+Grenier was hysterical; he had the highly strung nervous system of a
+girl where deeds of bloodshed were concerned. While Mason obeyed his
+instructions he pressed his hands over his eyes.
+
+"Bring some brandy, white-liver. Do you want me to do everything?"
+
+This gruff order awoke Grenier to trembling action. He went to a
+cupboard and procured a bottle. Mason, having placed Anson in a chair
+and steadied his head against the wall, seized half a tumblerful of the
+neat spirit and drank it with gusto. The other, gradually recovering his
+self-control, was satisfied with a less potential draught.
+
+"It will be dark soon," growled Mason. "We must undress him first, you
+said."
+
+"Yes. If his clothes are not blood-stained."
+
+"Rot! He must go into the water naked in any case. The idea is your
+own."
+
+"Ah! I forgot. It will soon be all right. Besides, I knew I should be
+upset, so I have everything written down here--all fully thought out.
+There can be no mistake made then."
+
+He produced a little notebook and opened it with uncertain fingers. He
+glanced at a closely written page. The words danced before his vision,
+but he persevered.
+
+"Yes. His coat first. Then his boots. Clothes or linen stained with
+blood to be burned, after cutting off all buttons. Now, I'm ready. I
+will not funk any more."
+
+His temperament linked the artistic and criminal faculties in sinister
+combination, and he soon recovered his domination in a guilty
+partnership. It must have been the instinct of the pickpocket that led
+him to appropriate Philip's silver watch, with its quaint shoelace
+attachment, before he touched any other article.
+
+"Queer thing," he commented. "A rich man might afford a better
+timekeeper. But there's no accounting for tastes."
+
+Mason, satiated and stupefied, obeyed his instructions like a
+ministering ghoul. They undressed Philip wholly, and Grenier, rapidly
+denuding himself of his boots and outer clothing, donned these portions
+of the victim's attire.
+
+Then the paint tubes and the other accessories of an actor's make-up
+were produced. Grenier, facing a mirror placed on a table close to
+Philip, began to remodel his own plastic features in close similitude to
+those of the unconscious man. He was greatly assisted by the fact that
+in general contour they were not strikingly different.
+
+Philip's face was of a fine, classical type; Grenier, whose nose, mouth
+and chin were regular and pleasing, found the greatest difficulty in
+controlling the shifty, ferret-like expression of his eyes. Again,
+Philip had no mustache. The only costume he really liked to wear was his
+yachting uniform, and here he conformed to the standard of the navy. The
+shaven lip, of course, was helpful to his imitator. All that was needed
+was an artistic eye for the chief effect, combined with a skilled use of
+his materials. And herein Grenier was an adept.
+
+But the light was growing very uncertain.
+
+"A lamp," he said, querulously, for time sped and he had much to do;
+"bring a lamp quickly."
+
+Mason went toward the front kitchen. Grenier did not care about being
+left alone, face to face with the pallid and naked form in the chair,
+but he set his teeth and repressed the tendency to rush after his
+confederate.
+
+The latter, in returning, halted an instant.
+
+"Hello!" he cried. "Here's his hat."
+
+After placing the lamp on the table beside the mirror, he went back to
+the passage.
+
+Grenier was so busy with the making-up process that he did not notice
+what his companion was doing. His bent form shrouded the light, and
+Mason placed the hat carelessly on a chair. He chanced to hold it by an
+uninjured part of the rim, and never thought of examining it.
+
+At last Grenier declared himself satisfied.
+
+"What do you think of the result?" he demanded, facing about so that the
+other could see both Anson and himself.
+
+"First-rate. It would deceive his own mother."
+
+A terrific rat-tat sounded on the outer door.
+
+A direct summons to the infernal regions could not have startled both
+men more thoroughly. Grenier, with the protecting make-up on forehead
+and cheeks, only showed his terror in his glistening eyes and palsied
+frame. Mason, whom nothing could daunt, was, nevertheless, spellbound
+with surprise.
+
+What intruder was this who knocked so imperatively? They were a mile and
+a half from the nearest habitation, four miles from a village. What
+fearful chance had brought to their door one who thus boldly demanded
+admission? Had their scheme miscarried at this vital moment? Had Anson
+suspected something and arranged that he should be followed by
+rescuers--avengers?
+
+The sheer agony of fear restored Grenier's wits. He was not Grenier now,
+but Philip Anson, a very shaky and unnerved Philip Anson, it was true,
+but sufficiently likelife to choke off doubting inquiries.
+
+He clutched Mason's arm and pointed a quivering finger toward Philip.
+
+"Out with him! This instant! The tide is high!"
+
+"But his face! If he is found----"
+
+Mason reached for the life-preserver with horrible purpose.
+
+"No, no. No more noise. Quick, man. You must go to the door. Only summon
+me if necessary. Oh, quick!"
+
+He rushed to another door and opened it. There was a balcony beyond. It
+overhung the very lip of the rock. Far beneath, the deep blue of the sea
+shone, and naught else.
+
+Mason caught up Anson's limp form and ran with him to the balcony. With
+a mighty swing he threw him outward, clear of the cliff's edge. For a
+few tremulous seconds they listened. They thought they heard a splash;
+then Mason turned coolly to Grenier:
+
+"Is there any blood on my coat?"
+
+"I can see none. Now, the door! Keep inside!"
+
+With quaking heart he listened to Mason's heavy tread along the passage
+and across the kitchen. He clinched the back of a chair in the effort to
+calm himself by forcible means. Then he heard the unbolting of the door
+and the telegraph messenger's prompt announcement:
+
+"Philip Anson, Esquire."
+
+Mason came to him carrying the telegram.
+
+Grenier subsided into the chair he held. This time he was prostrated.
+He could scarce open the flimsy envelope.
+
+     "Abingdon counsels caution. Says there is some mistake. Much love.
+
+     "EVELYN."
+
+That was all, but it was a good deal. Grenier looked up with lack-luster
+eyes. He was almost fainting.
+
+"Send him away," he murmured. "There is nothing to be done. In the
+morning----"
+
+Mason saw that his ally was nearly exhausted by the reaction. He grinned
+and cursed.
+
+"Of all the chicken-hearted----"
+
+But he went and dismissed the boy. Grenier threw himself at full length
+on a sofa.
+
+"What's up now?" demanded Mason, finding him prone.
+
+"Wait--just a little while--until my heart stops galloping. That
+confounded knock! It jarred my spine."
+
+"Take some more brandy."
+
+"How can I? It is impossible. I haven't got an ox-head, like you."
+
+Mason placed the lamp on a central table. Its rays fell on Philip's hat.
+Something in its appearance caught the man's eye. He picked up the hat
+and examined it critically.
+
+"Do you know," he said, after a silence broken only by Grenier's deep
+breathing, "I fancy I didn't kill him, after all."
+
+"Not--kill him? Why--he was dead--in that chair--for an hour."
+
+"Perhaps. I hit hard enough, but this hat must have taken some of it.
+When you were busy, I thought his chest heaved slightly. And just now,
+when I carried him outside, he seemed to move."
+
+"Rot!"
+
+"It may be. I struck very hard."
+
+Grenier sat up.
+
+"Even if you are right," he muttered, "it does not matter. He fell three
+hundred feet. The fall alone would kill him. And, if he is drowned, and
+the body is picked up, it is better so. Don't you see! Even if he were
+recognized he would be drowned, not--not----Well, his death would be due
+to natural causes."
+
+He could not bring himself to say "murdered"--an ugly word.
+
+"If you were not such a milksop, there would be no fear of his being
+recognized."
+
+But Grenier laughed a hollow and unconvincing laugh; nevertheless, it
+was a sign of recovery.
+
+"What nonsense we are talking. A naked man, floating, dead, in the North
+Sea. Who is he? Not Philip Anson, surely! Philip Anson is gayly gadding
+about England on his private affairs. Where is Green? Hunter, go and
+tell Green to bring my traps here instantly. I wish him to return to
+town on an urgent errand."
+
+There was a glint of admiration in Mason's eyes. Here was one with
+Anson's face, wearing Anson's clothes, and addressing him in Anson's
+voice.
+
+"That's better," he chuckled. "By G----d, you're clever when your head
+is clear."
+
+"Now be off for Green. You know what to say."
+
+"You will be alone. Will you be afraid?"
+
+The sneer was the last stimulant Grenier needed.
+
+"If you were called on to stand in Philip Anson's boots during the next
+week or ten days, my good friend," he quietly retorted, "you would be
+afraid sixty times in every hour. Your job has nearly ended; mine has
+barely commenced. Now, leave me."
+
+Nevertheless, he quitted that chamber of death, carrying with him all
+that he needed, and hurrying over the task while he could yet hear the
+dogcart rattling down the hill.
+
+He commenced with an inventory of Philip's pockets.
+
+His eyes sparkled at the sight of a well-filled pocketbook, with a
+hundred pounds in notes stuffed therein, cards, a small collection of
+letters, and other odds and ends. Among Philip's books was Evelyn's
+hurried note of that morning, and on it a penciled memorandum:
+
+     "Sharpe left for Devonshire yesterday. Lady M. wrote from
+     Yorkshire."
+
+"That was a neat stroke," thought Grenier, with a smile--when he smiled
+he least resembled Philip. "Being a man of affairs, Anson promptly went
+to the Morlands' solicitors. I was sure of it. I wonder how Jimmie
+arranged matters with Sharpe. I will know to-morrow at York."
+
+A check book in another pocket added to his joy.
+
+"The last rock out of my path," he cried, aloud. "That saves two days.
+The bait took. By Jove! I'm in luck's way!"
+
+There was now no need to write to Philip's bank for a fresh book, which
+was his first daring expedient.
+
+He seated himself at a table and wrote Philip's signature several times
+to test his hand. At last it was steady. Then he put a match to a fire
+all ready for lighting, and burned Philip's hat, collar, shirt and
+underclothing; also the blood-stained towel.
+
+When the mass of clothing was smoldering black and red he threw a fresh
+supply of coal on top of it. The loss of the hat did not trouble him; he
+possessed one of the same shape and color.
+
+He was quietly smoking a cigar, and practicing Philip's voice between
+the puffs, when Mason returned with the valet.
+
+The scene, carefully rehearsed by Grenier in all its details, passed off
+with gratifying success. Purring with satisfaction, the chief scoundrel
+of the pair left in the Grange House by the astonished servant, began to
+overhaul the contents of Philip's bag.
+
+It held the ordinary outfit of a gentleman who does not expect to pay a
+protracted visit--an evening dress suit, a light overcoat, a tweed suit,
+and a small supply of boots and linen. A tiny dressing case fitted into
+a special receptacle, and on top of this reposed a folded document.
+
+Grenier opened it. Mason looked over his shoulder. It was headed:
+
+"Annual Report of the Mary Anson Home for Destitute Boys."
+
+Mason coarsely cursed both the home and its patron. But Grenier laughed
+pleasantly.
+
+"The very thing," he cried. "Look here!"
+
+And he pointed to an indorsement by the secretary.
+
+"For signature if approved of."
+
+"I will sign and return it, with a nice typewritten letter, to-morrow,
+from York. Abingdon is one of the governors. Oh, I will bamboozle them
+rarely."
+
+"This blooming charity will help you a bit, then?"
+
+"Nothing better. Let us go out for a little stroll. Now, don't forget.
+Address me as 'Mr. Anson.' Get used to it, even if we are alone. And it
+will be no harm should we happen to meet somebody."
+
+They went down the hill and entered the rough country road that wound up
+from Scarsdale to the cliff. Through the faint light of a summer's night
+they saw a man approaching.
+
+It was a policeman.
+
+"_Absit omen_," said Grenier, softly.
+
+"What's that?"
+
+"Latin for a cop. You complained of my want of nerve. Watch me now."
+
+He halted the policeman, and questioned him about the locality, the
+direction of the roads, the villages on the coast. He explained
+pleasantly that he was a Londoner, and an utter stranger in these parts.
+
+"You are staying at the Grange House, sir?" said the man, in his turn.
+
+"Yes. Come here to-day, in fact."
+
+"I saw you, sir. Is the gentleman who drove you from Scarsdale staying
+there, too? I met you on the road, and he seemed to know me."
+
+Grenier silently anathematized his carelessness. Policemen in rural
+Yorkshire were not as common as policemen in Oxford Street. It was the
+same man whom he had encountered hours ago.
+
+"Oh, he is a doctor. Yes, he resides in the Grange House."
+
+"You won't find much room for a party there, sir," persisted the
+constable. "I don't remember the gentleman at all. What is his name?"
+
+"Dr. Williams. He is a genial sort of fellow--nods to anybody. Take a
+cigar. Sorry I can't ask you to go up and have a drink, but there is
+illness in the place."
+
+The policeman passed on.
+
+"Illness!" he said, glancing at the gloomy outlines of the farm. "How
+many of 'em are in t' place. And who's yon dark-lookin' chap, I wonder?
+My, but his face would stop a clock!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX.
+
+_Philip Anson Redivivus._
+
+
+Next morning Mason trudged off to Scarsdale at an early hour. He
+ascertained that Green had quitted the Fox and Hounds Inn in time to
+catch the first train.
+
+He returned to Grange House with the dogcart and drove Grenier to
+Scarsdale with his luggage, consisting of Philip's portmanteau and his
+own, together with a hatbox.
+
+He touched his cap to Grenier, when the latter smiled affably on him
+from the luxury of a first-class carriage, and he pocketed a tip with a
+grin.
+
+A porter was also feed lavishly, and the station master was urbanity
+itself as he explained the junctions and the time London would be
+reached.
+
+Left to himself, Mason handed over the dogcart to the hostler at the
+inn, paid for its hire, and again walked to the deserted farm. He
+surveyed every inch of the ground floor, carefully raked over the ashes
+in the grate, scrubbed the passage with a hard broom and water, packed
+some few personal belongings in a small bag, and set out again, after
+locking the door securely, for a long tramp over the moor. Nine miles of
+mountain road would bring him to another line of railway. Thence he
+would book to London, and travel straight through, arriving at the
+capital late at night, and not making the slightest attempt to
+communicate with Grenier en route.
+
+There was little fear of comment or inquiry caused by the disappearance
+of the inhabitants of the Grange House.
+
+He and "Dr. Williams" were the only residents even slightly known to the
+distant village. Such stores as they needed they had paid for. The house
+was hired for a month from an agent in the county town, and the rent
+paid in advance. It was not clear who owned the place. The agent kept it
+on his books until some one should claim it.
+
+As the murderer walked and smoked his reflections were not quite
+cheerful, now that he could cry "quits" with Philip Anson.
+
+His experiences of the previous night were not pleasant. Neither he nor
+Grenier went to bed. They dozed uneasily in chairs until daylight, and
+then they admitted that they had committed Anson's body to the deep in a
+moment of unreasoning panic.
+
+He might be found, and, even if he were not identified, that confounded
+policeman might be moved to investigate the proceedings of the curious
+visitors to Grange House.
+
+That was the weak part of their armor, but Grenier refused to admit the
+flaw.
+
+"A naked man found in the sea--and he may never be found--has not
+necessarily been thrown from a balcony three hundred feet above sea
+level. The notion is grotesque. No constabulary brain could conceive it.
+And who is he? Not Philip Anson; Philip Anson is alive. Not Dr.
+Williams; any Scarsdale man will say that. And your best friend, Mason,
+would not take him for you."
+
+But Mason was not satisfied. Better have buried the corpse on the lonely
+farm--in the garden for choice. Then they would know where he was. The
+sea was too vague.
+
+Of pity for his victim he had not a jot. Had Philip Anson pitied him, or
+his wife, or his two children? They, too, were dead, in all probability.
+While in London he had made every sort of inquiry, but always
+encountered a blank wall of negation. John and William Mason, even if
+they lived, did not know he was their father. They were lost to him
+utterly.
+
+Curse Philip Anson. Let him be forgotten, anyway. Yet he contrived to
+think of him during the nine weary miles over the moor, during the long
+wait at the railway station, and during the slow hours of the journey to
+London.
+
+On arriving at York, Grenier secured a palatial suite at the Station
+Hotel, entering his name in the register as "Philip Anson."
+
+He drove to the post office and asked if there was any message for
+"Grenier."
+
+Yes. It read:
+
+     "Family still at Penzance. Persuaded friend that letter was only
+     intended to create unpleasantness with uncle. He took same view and
+     returned to town. Will say nothing."
+
+Unsigned, it came from a town near Beltham. Grenier was satisfied. He
+lit a cigarette with the message.
+
+At a branch post office he dispatched two telegrams.
+
+The first to Evelyn:
+
+     "Will remain in the North for a few days. Too busy to write to-day.
+     Full letter to-morrow. Love.
+
+     "PHILIP."
+
+The second, to Mr. Abingdon:
+
+     "Your message through Miss Atherley noted. Please suspend all
+     inquiries. Affair quite unforeseen. Will explain by letter. Address
+     to-day, Station Hotel, York.
+
+     "ANSON."
+
+Then he entered a bank and asked for the manager.
+
+"My name may be known to you," he said to the official, at the same time
+handing his card.
+
+"Mr. Anson, Park Lane--the Mr. Anson."
+
+"I suppose I can flatter myself with the definite article. I am staying
+here some few days, and wish to carry out certain transactions requiring
+large sums of money. I will be glad to act through your bank, on special
+terms, of course, for opening a short account."
+
+"We will be delighted."
+
+"I will write a check now for five thousand pounds, which kindly place
+to my credit as soon as possible. Shall we say--the day after
+to-morrow?"
+
+"That is quite possible. We will use all expedition."
+
+"Thank you. You understand, this is merely a preliminary. I will need a
+much larger sum, but I will pay in my next check after hearing from
+London. I am not quite sure about the amount of my private balance at
+the moment."
+
+The bank manager assured him there would be no difficulty whatever under
+such conditions.
+
+Grenier obtained his passbook and check book, after writing a check on
+London before the other man's eyes.
+
+For a small amount, an introduction would have been necessary. In
+the case of Philip Anson, the millionaire, a man who handled thousands
+so readily, it was needless. Moreover, his procedure was
+unexceptionable--strictly according to banking business.
+
+Grenier rushed off to the station, caught a train for Leeds, went to the
+bank of a different company with different London agents, and carried
+through the same maneuver.
+
+He returned to York and secured the services of the hotel typist. He
+wrote to Philip's bankers:
+
+     "I am transacting some very important private business in the North
+     of England, and have opened temporary accounts with the ---- Bank
+     in York and the ---- Bank in Leeds, and I shall need a considerable
+     sum of ready money. Possibly I may also open accounts in Bradford
+     and Sheffield. To-day I have drawn two checks for five thousand
+     pounds each. Kindly let me know by return the current balance to my
+     credit, as I dislike overdrafts and would prefer to realize some
+     securities."
+
+The next letter ran:
+
+     "MY DEAR ABINGDON: Excuse a typewriter, but I am horribly busy. The
+     Morlands' affair is a purely family and personal one; it brings
+     into activity circumstances dating far back in my life and in the
+     lives of my parents. Sir Philip is not dying, nor even dangerously
+     ill. Lady Louisa is in Yorkshire, and I am making arrangements
+     which will close a long-standing feud.
+
+     "Write me here if necessary, but kindly keep back all business or
+     other communications, save those of a very urgent character, for at
+     least a week or perhaps ten days.
+
+     "Sorry for this enforced absence from town. It simply cannot be
+     avoided, and I am sure you will leave a detailed explanation until
+     we meet. I have signed the inclosed annual report of the home. Will
+     you kindly forward it to the secretary? Yours sincerely,
+
+     "PHILIP ANSON."
+
+Grenier dictated this epistle from a carefully composed copy. He
+understood the very friendly relations that existed between Philip and
+his chief agent, and he thought that in adopting a semi-apologetic,
+frankly reticent tone, he was striking the right key.
+
+The concluding reference to the Mary Anson Home was smart, he imagined,
+while the main body of the letter dealt in safe generalities.
+
+Naturally, he knew nothing of the conversation between the two men on
+this very topic a couple of months earlier.
+
+But Langdon's ample confessions had clearly revealed Philip's attitude,
+and the unscrupulous scoundrel was willing now to dare all in his
+attempt to gain a fortune.
+
+While he was dining a telegram was handed to him:
+
+     "You forgot to send your address, but Mr. Abingdon gave it to me.
+     So grieved you are detained. What about blue atom?
+
+     "EVELYN."
+
+Did ever woman invent more tantalizing question than that concluding
+one? What was a blue atom? No doubt, creation's scheme included blue
+atoms, as well as black ones and red ones. But why this reference to any
+particular atom? He tried the words in every possible variety of
+meaning. He gave them the dignity of capitals. BLUE ATOM. They became
+more inexplicable.
+
+In one respect they were effective. They spoiled his dinner. He had
+steeled himself against every possible form of surprise, but he was
+forced to admit that during the next three days he must succeed in
+persuading Evelyn Atherley that Philip Anson was alive, and engaged in
+important matters in Yorkshire. That was imperative--was his scheme to
+be wrecked by a blue atom?
+
+Moreover, her query must be answered. His promise to write was, of
+course, a mere device. It would be manifestly absurd to send her a
+typewritten letter, and, excellently as he could copy Philip's
+signature, he dared not put his skill as a forger to the test of
+inditing a letter to her, no matter how brief. Finally he hit upon a
+compromise. He wired:
+
+     "Stupid of me to omit address. Your concluding sentence mixed up in
+     transmission. Meaning not quite clear. Am feeling so lonely.
+
+     "PHILIP."
+
+Then he tried to resume his dinner, but his appetite was gone.
+
+In postal facilities, owing to its position on a main line, York is well
+served from London. At 9 P. M. two letters, one a bulky package and
+registered, reached him.
+
+The letter was from Mr. Abingdon. It briefly acknowledged his telegram,
+stated that a man in the Athenæum, who knew Sir Philip Morland, had
+informed him, in response to guarded inquiries, that the baronet was
+exceedingly well off, and called attention to some important leases
+inclosed which required his signature.
+
+The other note was from Evelyn. It was tender and loving, and contained
+a reference that added to the mystification of her telegram.
+
+     "In the hurry of your departure yesterday," she wrote, "we forgot
+     to mention Blue Atom. What is your opinion? The price is high,
+     certainly, but, then, picture the joy of it--the only one in the
+     world!"
+
+And, again, came another message:
+
+     "I referred to Blue Atom, of course. What did the post office make
+     it into?
+
+     "EVELYN."
+
+Blue Atom was assuming spectral dimensions. He cursed the thing
+fluently. It was high priced, a joy, alone in solitary glory. What could
+it be?
+
+He strolled into the station, and entered into conversation with a
+platform inspector.
+
+"By the way," he said, casually, "have you ever heard of anything called
+a blue atom?"
+
+The man grinned. "Is that another name for D. T.'s, sir?"
+
+Grenier gave it up, and resolved to postpone a decision until the next
+morning.
+
+By a late train Philip's portmanteau arrived. It was locked, and the key
+reposed in the safe. Green, it ultimately transpired, solemnly opened
+the safe in the presence of the housekeeper and butler, locked it again
+without disturbing any of the other contents, and handed the key to the
+butler, who placed it in the silver pantry.
+
+In the solitude of his room, Grenier burst the lock. The rascal received
+one of the greatest shocks of his life when he examined the contents--a
+quantity of old clothing, some worn boots, a ball of twine, a bed
+coverlet, a big, iron key, the tattered letters, and a variety of odds
+and ends that would have found no corner in a respectable rag shop.
+
+He burst into a fit of hysterical laughter.
+
+"Ye gods and little fishes!" he cried. "What a treasure! The Clerkenwell
+suit, I suppose, and a woman's skirt and blouse. Old-timers, too, by
+their style. His mother's, I expect. He must have been fond of his
+mother."
+
+At that moment Jocky Mason, beetle-browed and resentful, was reading a
+letter which reached his lodgings two hours before his arrival, in an
+envelope bearing the ominous initials--O. H. M. S.
+
+It was from the Southwark Police Station.
+
+     "SIR: Kindly make it convenient to attend here to-morrow evening at
+     8 P. M. Yours truly,
+
+     "T. BRADLEY, Inspector."
+
+The following day it was Mason's duty to report himself under his
+ticket-of-leave, but it was quite unusual for the police to give a
+preliminary warning in this respect. Failure on his part meant arrest.
+That was all the officials looked after.
+
+"What's up now?" he muttered. "Anyway, Grenier was right. This gives me
+a cast-iron alibi. I'll acknowledge it at once."
+
+His accomplice, hoping to obtain sleep from champagne, consumed the
+contents of a small bottle in his bedroom, while he scanned the columns
+of the local evening papers for any reference to a "Seaside Mystery" on
+the Yorkshire coast.
+
+There was none. Anson's body had not been recovered yet.
+
+Before going to bed, he wound Philip's watch. He examined it now with
+greater interest than he had bestowed on it hitherto.
+
+Although silver, it appeared to be a good one. He opened the case to
+examine the works. Inside there was an inscription:
+
+     "Presented to Philip Anson, aged fifteen years, by the officers and
+     men of the Whitechapel Division of the Metropolitan Police as a
+     token of their admiration for his bravery in assisting to arrest a
+     notorious burglar."
+
+Beneath was the date of Mason's capture.
+
+"Where was I ten years ago?" he mused.
+
+He looked back through the soiled leaves of a sordid record, and found
+that he was then acting in a melodrama entitled "The Wages of Sin."
+
+And the wages of sin is death! The drama insisted on the full measure of
+Biblical accuracy. Altogether, Grenier lay down to rest under unenviable
+conditions.
+
+He dreamed that he was falling down precipices, and striking sheets of
+blue water with appalling splashes. Each time he was awakened by the
+shock.
+
+But he was a hardy rogue where conscience was concerned, and he swore
+himself to sleep again. Rest he must have. He must arise with steady
+head and clear brain.
+
+He was early astir. His first act was to send for the Yorkshire morning
+papers. They contained no news of Philip Anson dead, but the local sheet
+chronicled his arrival at York.
+
+This was excellent. The banker would see it. A few printed lines carry
+great weight in such matters.
+
+Then he signed the leases, dispatched them in a typewritten envelope and
+telegraphed:
+
+     "Documents forwarded this morning. Please meet wishes expressed in
+     letter."
+
+"Surely," he reflected, "Abingdon will not give another thought to my
+proceedings. Philip Anson is not a boy in leading strings."
+
+He wired to Evelyn:
+
+     "Sorry for misunderstanding. Blue Atom must wait until my return."
+
+Here was a way out. Whatever that wretched speck of color meant, it
+could be dealt with subsequently.
+
+But Evelyn's prompt reply only made confusion worse confounded:
+
+     "Delay is impossible. The man has put off the duchess two days
+     already."
+
+So a man, and a duchess, and a period of time were mixed up with a blue
+atom. He must do something desperate; begin his plan of alienation
+sooner than he intended. He answered:
+
+     "Too busy to attend to matter further. Going to Leeds to-day.
+     Letters here as usual."
+
+And to Leeds he went. Residence in York was a fever--a constant fret. In
+Leeds he was removed from the arena. He passed the afternoon and evening
+in roaming the streets, consumed with a fiery desire to be doing,
+daring, braving difficulties.
+
+But he must wait at least another day before he could lay hands on any
+portion of Philip Anson's wealth save the money stolen from his pockets.
+
+At the hotel there was only one letter and no telegrams.
+
+The London bankers wrote:
+
+     "We beg to acknowledge yours of yesterday. Your cash balance at
+     date is twelve thousand four hundred and ten pounds nine shillings
+     one penny. Your securities in our possession amount to a net value
+     at to-day's prices of about nine hundred and twenty thousand
+     pounds, including two hundred and fifty thousand pounds Consols at
+     par. We will forward you a detailed list if desired, and will be
+     pleased to realize any securities as directed.
+
+     "Kindly note that instructions for sale should be given in your
+     handwriting, and not typed."
+
+There was joy, intoxicating almost to madness, in this communication,
+but it was not unleavened by the elements of danger and delay.
+
+His signature had been accepted without demur; he could control an
+enormous sum without question; these were the entrancing certainties
+which dazzled his eyes for a time.
+
+But it was horribly annoying that a millionaire should keep his current
+account so low, and the concluding paragraph held a bogey, not wholly
+unforeseen, but looming large when it actually presented itself.
+
+The memorandum in Philip's handwriting on Evelyn's letter was now thrice
+precious. He hurriedly scrutinized it, and at once commenced to practice
+the words.
+
+"Devonshire" and "Sharpe" gave him the capitals for "Dear Sirs." He was
+at a loss for a capital "C," but he saw that Philip used the simplest
+and boldest outlines in his caligraphy, and he must risk a "C" without
+the upper loop. In "Lady M.," too, he had the foundation of the "£" to
+precede the requisite figures. Soon he framed a letter in the fewest
+words possible:
+
+     "Yours of to-day's date received. Kindly sell Consols value one
+     hundred and fifty thousand pounds, and place the same to my
+     credit."
+
+He copied it again and again, until it was written freely and
+carelessly, and every letter available compared favorably with the
+original in his possession. Then he posted it, thus saving a day,
+according to his calculations.
+
+With this missive committed irrecoverably to the care of his majesty's
+mails, Victor Grenier's spirits rose. Now, indeed, he was in the
+whirlpool. Would he emerge high and dry in the El Dorado of gilded vice
+which he longed to enter, or would fortune consign him to Portland
+again--perchance to the scaffold? He could not say. He would not feel
+safe until Philip Anson was a myth, and Victor Grenier a reality, with
+many thousands in the bank.
+
+Already he was planning plausible lies to keep Mason out of his fair
+share of the plunder. A few more forged letters would easily establish
+the fact that he was unable to obtain a bigger haul than, say, fifty
+thousand pounds.
+
+And what did Mason want with twenty-five thousand pounds? He was a
+gnarled man, with crude tastes. Twenty, fifteen, ten thousand would be
+ample for his wants. The sooner he drank himself to death the better.
+
+With each fresh cigar Mason's moiety shrank in dimensions. The murder
+was a mere affair of a vengeful blow, but this steady sucking of the
+millionaire's riches required finesse, a dashing adroitness, the superb
+impudence of a Cagliostro.
+
+But if his confederate's interests suffered, the total fixed in
+Grenier's original scheme in nowise became affected.
+
+He meant to have a hundred thousand pounds, and he firmly decided not to
+go beyond that amount. His letter to the bankers named one hundred and
+fifty thousand pounds, and he calculated that by stopping short at
+two-thirds of the available sum he would not give any grounds for
+suspicion or personal inquiry.
+
+Yet he would shirk nothing. Mr. Abingdon and Miss Atherley must be
+avoided at all events; others he would face blithely. He took care to
+have ever on the table in his sitting room a goodly supply of wines and
+spirits.
+
+If anyone sought an interview, it might be helpful to sham a slight
+degree of intoxication. The difference between Philip drunk and Philip
+sober would then be accounted for readily.
+
+But rest--that was denied him. It was one thing to harden himself
+against surprise; quite another to forget that disfigured corpse
+swirling about in the North Sea.
+
+He wished now that Philip Anson had not been cast forth naked. It was a
+blunder not to dress him, to provide him with means of identification
+with some unknown Smith or Jones.
+
+When he closed his eyes he could see a shadowy form wavering helplessly
+in green depths. Never before were his hands smeared with blood. He had
+touched every crime save murder.
+
+Physically, he was a coward. In plotting the attack on Philip, he had
+taxed his ingenuity for weeks to discover some means where he need not
+become Mason's actual helper. He rejected project after project. The
+thing might be bungled, so he must attend to each part of the
+undertaking himself, short of using a bludgeon.
+
+He slept again and dreamed of long flights through space pursued by
+demons. How he longed for day. How slowly the hours passed after dawn,
+until the newspapers were obtainable, with their columns of emptiness
+for him.
+
+A letter came from Evelyn. It was a trifle reserved, with an impulse to
+tears concealed in it.
+
+     "I asked mother for fifty pounds," she wrote, "so the Blue Atom
+     incident has ended, but I don't think I will ever understand the
+     mood in which you wrote your last telegram. Perhaps your letter now
+     in the post--I half expected it at mid-day--will explain matters
+     somewhat."
+
+He consigned Blue Atom to a sultry clime, and began to ask himself why
+Mr. Abingdon had not written. The ex-magistrate's reticence annoyed him.
+A letter, even remonstrating with him, would be grateful. This silence
+was irritating; it savored of doubt, and doubt was the one phase of
+thought he wished to keep out of Mr. Abingdon's mind at that moment.
+
+As for Evelyn, she mistrusted even his telegrams, while a bank had
+accepted his signature without reservation. He would punish her with
+zest. Philip Anson's memory would be poisoned in her heart long before
+she realized that he was dead.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX.
+
+_Nemesis._
+
+
+Philip was thrown into the sea on a Tuesday. Jocky Mason reached London
+on Wednesday, and kept his appointment with Inspector Bradley on
+Thursday evening.
+
+The inspector received him graciously, thus chasing from the
+ex-convict's mind a lurking suspicion that matters were awry. There is a
+curious sympathy between the police and well-known criminals. They meet
+with friendliness and exchange pleasantries, as a watchdog might
+fraternize with a wolf in off hours.
+
+But Mason had no responsive smile or ready quip.
+
+"What's up?" he demanded, morosely. "You sent for me. Here I am. I would
+have brought my ticket sooner if you hadn't written."
+
+"All right, Mason. Keep your wool on. Do you remember Superintendent
+Robinson?"
+
+"Him that was inspector in Whitechapel when I was put away? Rather."
+
+"Well, some friends of yours have been inquiring from him as to your
+whereabouts. He sent a message round, and I promised that you should
+meet them if you showed up. I was half afraid you had bolted to the
+States."
+
+"Friends! I have no friends."
+
+"Oh, yes, you have--very dear friends, indeed."
+
+"Then where are they?"
+
+He glared around the roomy police office, but it was only tenanted by
+policemen attending to various books or chatting quietly across a huge
+counter.
+
+His surly attitude did not diminish the inspector's kindliness.
+
+"Don't be so doubtful on that point, Mason. Have you no children?"
+
+Something in the police officer's eyes gave the man a clew. His swarthy
+face flushed and his hands clinched.
+
+"Yes," he said, huskily. "I left two boys. Their mother died. They were
+lost. I have looked for them everywhere."
+
+Inspector Bradley pointed to a door.
+
+"Go into that room," he said, quietly, "and you will find them. They are
+waiting there for you."
+
+Mason crossed the sanded floor like one walking in his sleep. He
+experienced no emotion. He was a man stunned for the nonce.
+
+He opened the door of the waiting room, and entered cautiously. He might
+have expected a hoax, a jest, from his attitude.
+
+Two stalwart young men were standing there talking. Their chat ceased as
+he appeared. For an appreciable time father and sons looked at each
+other with the curiosity of strangers.
+
+He knew them first. He saw himself, no less than their unfortunate and
+suffering mother, in their erect figures, the contour of their pleasant
+faces.
+
+To them he was unknown. The eldest boy was ten years old, the younger
+eight, when they last met. But they read a message in the man's
+hungering eyes, and they were the first to break the suspense.
+
+"Father!" cried John.
+
+The other boy sprang to him without a word.
+
+He took them in his arms. He was choked. From some buried font came
+long-forgotten tears. He murmured their names, but not a coherent
+sentence could he utter.
+
+They were splendid fellows, he thought, so tall and well knit, so
+nice-mannered, so thoroughly overjoyed to meet him.
+
+That was the best of it. They had sought him voluntarily. They knew his
+record, and were not ashamed to own him. During the long days and nights
+of ceaseless inquiry he was ever tormented by the dread lest his
+children, if living, should look on him as accursed, a blot on their
+existence.
+
+He half hoped that he might discover them in some vile slum, where crime
+was hallowed, and convicts were heroes. He never pictured them as
+honest, well-meaning youths, sons of whom any father might be proud, for
+in that possibility lurked the gnawing terror of shame and repudiation.
+
+Mason's heart was full. He could not thank God for His mercy--that
+resource of poor humanity was denied him, and, to his credit be it said,
+he was no hypocrite.
+
+His seared soul awoke to softer feelings, as his eyes, his ears, his
+very heart, drank in fuller knowledge of them. But he was tormented in
+his joy by an agonized pang of remorse. Oh, that he could have met them
+with hands free from further crime!
+
+In some vague way he felt that his punishment for Philip Anson's death
+would be meted out by a sterner justice than the law of the land. He was
+too hard a man to yield instantly. He crushed back the rising flood of
+horror that threatened to overwhelm him in this moment of happiness. He
+forced himself again to answer their anxious inquiries, to note their
+little airs of manliness and self-reliance, to see with growing wonder
+that they were well dressed and wore spotless linen.
+
+A police station was no place for confidences. Indeed, both boys were
+awed by their surroundings.
+
+They passed into the outer office, and Mason went to thank Inspector
+Bradley.
+
+"Don't forget your ticket," whispered the pleased officer.
+
+The reminder jarred, but it was unavoidable. Mason got his ticket
+indorsed, the lads looking on shyly the while, and the three regained
+the freedom of the street.
+
+"Let us find some place to sit down and have a drink," suggested Mason.
+
+"No, father," said John, with a frank smile. "Neither of us takes drink.
+Come home with us. We have a room ready for you."
+
+"I have lodgings----"
+
+"You can go there to-morrow, and get your belongings."
+
+"Yes. Jump into this cab," urged Willie. "We live in Westminster. It is
+not very far."
+
+Mason was fascinated by the boys' pleasant assumption of authority. They
+spoke like young gentlemen, with the accent that betokens a good
+education. He yielded without a protest.
+
+They sat three abreast in a hansom, and the vehicle scurried off toward
+the Westminster Bridge Road.
+
+Mason was in the center. His giant form leaned over the closed doors of
+the cab, but he turned his head with interested eagerness as one or
+other of his sons addressed him.
+
+"I suppose, father, you are wondering how we came to meet in such a
+place," said John.
+
+"It might puzzle me if I found time to think."
+
+"Well, the superintendent arranged everything. Unfortunately, he was
+away on his holidays when--when you were released--or we would have met
+you then, and his deputy was not aware of the circumstances. As soon as
+the superintendent returned he wrote to the governor, and was very much
+annoyed to find that you had slipped away in the meantime."
+
+"He wouldn't be so annoyed if he was there himself," growled Mason,
+good-humoredly.
+
+"Oh, John didn't mean that, father," broke in Willie. "The annoyance was
+his, and ours. You see, we had not known very long where you were. We
+didn't even know you were alive."
+
+"Of course, of course. Somebody has been looking after you well. That's
+clear enough. They wouldn't be always telling a pair of boys that their
+father was in Portland."
+
+"It gave us such a shock when we heard the truth," said downright John.
+
+"But we were so glad to hear that our father was living, and that we
+should soon see him," explained the younger.
+
+"When did you hear first?"
+
+"About four months ago. Just before we took our present situations. We
+are saddlers and ornamental leather workers. Between us we earn quite a
+decent living. Don't we, John?"
+
+"In fifteen weeks we have saved enough to pay for half our furniture,
+besides keeping ourselves well. There's plenty to eat, dad. You won't
+starve, big as you are."
+
+They all laughed. The cab was passing St. Thomas' Hospital. Across the
+bridge a noble prospect met their eyes. London had a glamour for Mason
+that night it never held before.
+
+"So Robinson wrote to Bradley, knowing that I would report myself
+to-day, and Bradley arranged----"
+
+"Who is Robinson, father?" interrupted John.
+
+"The superintendent, to be sure. He used to be inspector at
+Whitechapel."
+
+"He is not the man we mean. We are talking of Mr. Giles, superintendent
+of the Mary Anson Home."
+
+The two boys felt their father's start of dismay, of positive affright.
+They wondered what had happened to give him such a shock. Peering at him
+sideways from the corners of the hansom, they could see the quick pallor
+of his swarthy face.
+
+"You forget, John," put in the adroit William, "that father knows as
+little about our lives as we knew about his until very recently. When we
+reach our flat we must begin at the beginning and tell him everything."
+
+"There isn't much to tell," cried John. "When poor mother died, we were
+taken care of by a gentleman whom Mr. Philip asked to look after us.
+When the Mary Anson Home was built we were among the first batch of
+inmates. If ever a young man has done good in this world, it is Mr.
+Philip Anson. See what he did for us. Mother was nursed and tended with
+the utmost kindness, but her life could not be saved. We were rescued
+from the workhouse, taught well and fed well, and given such instruction
+in a first-class trade that even at our age we can earn five pounds a
+week between us. And what he has done for us he does for hundreds of
+others. God bless Philip Anson, I say!"
+
+"Amen!" said his brother.
+
+The voices of his sons reached Mason's tortured brain like sounds heard,
+remote but distinct, through a long tunnel. His great frame seemed to
+collapse. In an instant he became an old man. He set his teeth and
+jammed his elbows against the woodwork of the cab, but, strive as he
+would, with his immense physical strength and his dogged will, he shook
+with a palsy.
+
+"Father!" cried John, anxiously, little dreaming how his enthusiastic
+speech had pierced to the very marrow of his hearer, "are you ill? Shall
+we stop?"
+
+"Perhaps, John, a little brandy would do him good," murmured Willie.
+
+"Father, do tell me what is the matter. Willie, reach up and tell the
+man to stop."
+
+Then Mason forced himself to speak.
+
+"No, no," he gasped. "Go on. It is--only--a passing spasm."
+
+He must have time, even a few minutes, in which to drive off the awful
+specter that hugged him in the embrace of death. He dared not look at
+his sons. If he were compelled to face them on the pavement in the
+flaring gaslight, he would run away.
+
+His anguish was pitiable. Great drops of sweat stood clammy on his
+forehead. He passed a trembling hand across his face, and groaned aloud
+unconsciously:
+
+"Oh, God forgive me!"
+
+It was the first prayer that had voluntarily left his lips for many a
+day.
+
+The boys heard. They interpreted it as an expression of sorrow that his
+own career should have been so cut off from their childhood and joyous
+youth.
+
+"Well, cheer up, dad, anyhow," cried the elder, much relieved by this
+conclusion. "We are all together again, and you can face the world once
+more with us at your side."
+
+No dagger of steel could have hurt so dreadfully as this well-meant
+consolation. But for the sake of his sons the man wrestled with his
+agony, and conquered it to some outward seeming.
+
+When the cab stopped outside a big building he was steady on his feet
+when he alighted, and he managed to summon a ghastly smile to his aid as
+he said to John:
+
+"I am sorry to set you a bad example. But that is nothing new, is it? I
+must have some spirit, strong spirit, or I can't keep up."
+
+"Certainly, father. Why not? It is all right as medicine. Willie, you go
+and get some brandy while I take father upstairs."
+
+Their flat was on the second floor. It was neatly furnished, fitted with
+electric light, and contained five rooms.
+
+John talked freely, explaining housekeeping arrangements, the puzzle as
+to their father's size, for the first bed they bought was a short one,
+their hours of work, the variety of their employment, any and every
+cheering topic, indeed, until Willie came with a bottle.
+
+Both of them glanced askance at the quantity Mason consumed, but they
+passed no comment. He tried to smoke, and sat so that the light should
+not fall on his face. And then he said to them:
+
+"Tell me all you know about Philip Anson. It interests me."
+
+Snap! The hard composition of his pipe was broken in two.
+
+"What a pity!" cried Willie. "Shall I run and buy you a new one?"
+
+"No, my boy, no. I can manage. Don't mind me. I can't talk, but I will
+listen. May the Lord have mercy on me, I will listen!"
+
+He suffered that night as few men have suffered. Many a murderer has had
+to endure the torments of a haunted conscience, but few can have been
+harrowed by hearing their own sons lauding to the sky the victim's
+benefactions to themselves and to their dead mother.
+
+He was master of his emotions sufficiently to control his voice. He
+punctuated their recital by occasional comments that showed he
+appreciated every point. He examined with interest specimens of their
+work, for they understood both the stitching and the stamping of
+leather, and once he found himself dully speculating as to what career
+he would have carved out for himself were he given in boyhood the
+opportunities they rejoiced in.
+
+But throughout there was in his surcharged brain a current of cunning
+purpose. First, there was Grenier, away in the North, robbing a dead man
+and plotting desolation to some girl. He must be dealt with.
+
+Then he, the slayer, must be slain, and by his own hand. He would spare
+his sons as much pain as might be within his power.
+
+He would not merely disappear, leaving them dubious and distressed. No.
+They must know he was dead, not by suicide, but by accident. They would
+mourn his wretched memory. Better that than live with the abiding grief
+of the knowledge that he was Philip Anson's murderer.
+
+He was quite sure now that the dead would arise and call for vengeance
+if he dared to continue to exist. Yes, that was it--a life for a life--a
+prayer that his deeds might not bear fruit in his children--and then
+death, speedy, certain death.
+
+Some reference to the future made by Willie, the younger, who favored
+his mother more than the outspoken John, gave Mason an opportunity to
+pave the way for the coming separation.
+
+"I don't want you two lads to make any great changes on my account," he
+said, slowly. "It is far from my intention to settle down here, and let
+all your friends become aware that you are supporting a ticket-of-leave
+father. Yes, I know. You are good boys, and it won't be any more
+pleasant for me to--to live away from you, than it would be for
+you--under--other conditions--to be separated from me. But--I am in
+earnest in this matter. I will stop here to-night just to feel that I am
+under the same roof as you. It is your roof, not mine. Long ago I lost
+the right to provide you with a shelter. To-morrow I go away. I have
+some work to do--a lot of work. It must be attended to at once. Of
+course, you will see me, often. We can meet in the evening--go out
+together--but live here--with you--I can't."
+
+His sons never knew the effort that this speech cost him. He spoke with
+such manifest hesitation that Willie, who quickly interpreted the
+less-pronounced signs of a man's thoughts, winked a warning at his
+brother.
+
+He said, with an optic signal:
+
+"Not a word now, John. Just leave things as they are."
+
+Under any ordinary conditions he would be right. He could never guess
+the nature of the chains that encircled his father, delivering him
+fettered to the torture, bound hand and foot, body and soul.
+
+At last they all retired to their rooms, the boys to whisper kindly
+plans for keeping their father a prisoner again in their hands; Mason to
+lie, open-eyed, dry-eyed, through the night, mourning for that which
+might not be.
+
+The rising sun dispelled the dark phantoms that flitted before his
+vision.
+
+He fell into a fitful slumber, disturbed by vivid dreams. Once he was on
+a storm-swept sea at night, on a sinking ship, a ship with a crew of
+dead men, and a dead captain at the helm.
+
+Driving onward through the raging waves, he could feel the vessel
+settling more surely, as she rushed into each yawning caldron. Suddenly,
+through the wreck of flying spindrift, he saw a smooth harbor, a
+sheltered basin, in which vessels rode in safety. There were houses
+beyond, with cheerful lights, and men and women were watching the doomed
+craft from the firm security of the land.
+
+But, strain his eyes as he would, he could see no entrance to that
+harbor; naught save furious seas breaking over relentless walls of
+granite.
+
+Even in his dream he was not afraid.
+
+He asked the captain, with an oath:
+
+"Is there no way in?"
+
+And the captain turned corpselike eyes toward him. It was Philip Anson.
+The dreamer uttered a wild beast's howl, and shrank away.
+
+Then he awoke to find Willie standing by his bedside with soothing
+words.
+
+"It is all right, father. You were disturbed in your sleep. Don't get up
+yet. It is only five o'clock."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+At that hour a policeman left his cottage in a village on the Yorkshire
+coast, and walked leisurely toward the Grange House.
+
+He traversed four miles of rough country, and the sun was hot, so he did
+not hurry. About half-past six he reached the farm. There were no signs
+of activity such as may be expected in the country at that hour.
+
+He examined three sides of the building carefully--the sea front was
+inaccessible--and waited many minutes before he knocked at the door.
+There was no answer. He knocked again more loudly. The third time his
+summons would have aroused the Seven Sleepers, but none came.
+
+He tried the door, and rattled it; peered in at the windows; stood back
+in the garden, and looked up at the bedrooms.
+
+"A queer business," he muttered, as he turned unwillingly to leave the
+place.
+
+"Ay, a very queer business," he said, again. "I must go on to Scarsdale,
+an' mak' inquiries aboot this Dr. Williams afore I report to t' super."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI.
+
+_The Rescue._
+
+
+When Philip's almost lifeless body was flung over the cliff it rushed
+down through the summer air feet foremost. Then, in obedience to the law
+of gravity, it spun round until, at the moment of impact with the water,
+the head and shoulders plunged first into the waves.
+
+At that point the depth of the sea was sixty feet at the very base of
+the rock. At each half-tide, and especially in stormy weather, an
+irresistible current swept away all sand deposit, and sheered off
+projecting masses of stone so effectually, that, in the course of time,
+the overhanging cliff must be undermined and fall into the sea.
+
+High tide or low, there was always sufficient water to float a
+battleship, and the place was noted as a favorite nook for salmon, at
+that season preparing for their annual visit to the sylvan streams of
+the moorland valleys.
+
+The lordly salmon is peculiar in his habits. Delighting, at one period
+of the year, to roam through the ocean wilds, at another he seeks
+shallow rivers, in whose murmuring fords he scarce finds room to turn
+his portly frame.
+
+And the law protects him most jealously.
+
+In the river he is guarded like a king, and when he clusters at its
+mouth, lazily making up his mind to try a change of water, as a monarch
+might visit Homburg for a change of air, he can only be caught under
+certain severe restrictions.
+
+He must not be netted within so many yards of the seaward limit of the
+estuary; he may not be caught wholesale; the nets must have a maximum
+length of four hundred feet; they must not be set between 7 P. M. on a
+Friday and 7 A. M. on a Monday.
+
+Viewed in every aspect, the salmon is given exceptional chances of
+longevity. His price is high as his culinary reputation, and the obvious
+sequel to all these precautions is that certain nefarious persons known
+as poachers try every artifice to defeat the law and capture him.
+
+A favorite dodge is to run out a large quantity of nets in just such a
+tideway as the foot of the cliff crowned by Grange House. None can spy
+the operations from the land, while a close watch seaward gives many
+chances of escape from enterprising water bailiffs, who, moreover, can
+sometimes be made conveniently drunk.
+
+When Philip hurtled into the placid sea his naked body shone white, like
+the plumage of some gigantic bird.
+
+Indeed, a man who was leisurely pulling a coble in a zigzag
+course--while two others paid out a net so that its sweeping curves
+might embarrass any wandering salmon who found himself within its
+meshes--marked the falling body in its instantaneous passage, and
+thought at first that some huge sea fowl had dived after its prey.
+
+But the loud splash startled the three men. Not so did a cormorant or a
+white-winged solan plunge to secure an unwary haddock.
+
+The net attendants straightened their backs; the oarsman stood up. The
+disturbance was so near, so unexpected, that it alarmed them. They
+looked aloft, thinking that a rock had fallen; they looked to the small
+eddy caused by Philip's disappearance to see if any sign would be given
+explanatory of an unusual occurrence.
+
+Were Philip thrown from such a height when in full possession of his
+senses, in all likelihood such breath as was in his lungs at the moment
+of his fall would have been expelled by the time he reached the water.
+
+He must have resisted the rush of air, uttered involuntary cries,
+struggled wildly with his limbs.
+
+But, as it chanced, Mason's rough handling in carrying him to the
+balcony made active the vital forces that were restoring him to
+consciousness.
+
+He was on the very threshold of renewed life when he fell, and the
+downward flight helped rather than retarded the process. Indeed, the
+rush of air was grateful. He drank in the vigorous draught, and inflated
+his lungs readily. His sensations were those of a man immersed in a warm
+bath, and the shock of his concussion with the surface of the sea in
+nowise retarded the recuperative effect of the dive.
+
+Of course he was fortunate, after falling from such a height, in
+striking the water with his right shoulder. No portion of the human body
+is so fitted to bear a heavy blow as the shoulders and upper part of the
+back. Had he dropped vertically on his head or his feet he might have
+sustained serious injury. As it was, after a tremendous dive, and a
+curve of many yards beneath the sea, he bobbed up inside the salmon net
+within a few feet of the boat.
+
+Instantly the fishermen saw that it was a man, an absolutely naked man,
+who had thus dropped from the sky.
+
+They were amazed, very frightened indeed, but they readily hauled at the
+dragging net and brought Philip nearer the boat. Even at this final
+stage of his adventure he incurred a terrible risk.
+
+Unable to help himself in the least degree, and swallowing salt water
+rapidly now, he rolled away inertly as the net rose under the energetic
+efforts of his rescuers. There was grave danger that he should drop back
+into the depths, and then he must sink like a stone.
+
+Wearing their heavy sea boots, none of the fishermen, though each was an
+expert swimmer, dared to jump into the water. But the oarsman, being a
+person of resource, and reasoning rapidly that not the most enthusiastic
+salmon bailiff in England would pursue him in such manner, grabbed a
+boathook and caught Philip with it beneath the arm.
+
+He only used the slight force needful to support him until another could
+grasp him.
+
+Then they lifted the half-drowned man on board, turned him on his face
+to permit the water to flow out of his lungs, and, instantly reversing
+him, began to raise his elbows and press them against his sides
+alternately.
+
+Soon he breathed again, but he remained unconscious, and a restored
+circulation caused blood to flow freely from the back of his head.
+
+Of course the men were voicing their surprise throughout this
+unparalleled experience.
+
+"Whea is he?"
+
+"Where did he coom frae?"
+
+"Nobbut a loony wad hae jumped off yon crag."
+
+"He's neaked as when he was born."
+
+At last one of them noticed his broken scalp. He pointed out the wound
+to his companions.
+
+"That was never dean by fallin' i' t' watter," he said.
+
+They agreed. The thing was mysteriously serious. Philip's youth, his
+stature, his delicate skin, the texture of his hands, the cleanliness of
+his teeth and nails, were quick tokens to the fisherman that something
+quite beyond the common run of seaside accidents had taken place. The
+oarsman, a man of much intelligence, hit on an explanation.
+
+"He was swarmin' doon t' cliff after t' birds," he cried. "Mebbe
+fotygraffin' 'em. I've heerd o' sike doin's."
+
+"Man alive," cried one of his mates, "he wouldn't strip te t' skin for
+that job."
+
+This was unanswerable. Not one gave a thought to the invisible Grange
+House.
+
+They held a hasty consultation. One man doffed his jersey for Philip's
+benefit, and then they hastily covered him with oilskin coat and
+overalls.
+
+It was now nearly dark, so they ran out a marking buoy for their net,
+shipped oars, and pulled lustily to their remote fishing hamlet, three
+miles away from the outlet of the river which flowed through Scarsdale.
+
+Arrived there, they carried Philip to the house of one who was the proud
+owner of a "spare" bed.
+
+And now a fresh difficulty arose. A doctor, and eke a policeman, should
+be summoned. A messenger was dispatched at once for the nearest medical
+man--who lived a mile and a half away, but the policeman, who dwelt in
+the village, was a bird of another color.
+
+These men were poachers, lawbreakers. At various times they had all been
+fined for illegal fishing. The policeman was of an inquiring turn of
+mind. He might fail to understand the mystery of the cliff, but he would
+most certainly appreciate every detail of their presence in that
+particular part of the sea which lapped its base.
+
+So they smoked, and talked, and tried rough remedies until the doctor
+arrived.
+
+To him they told the exact truth; he passed no comment, examined his
+patient, cut away the hair from the scalp wound, shook his head over it,
+bound it up, administered some stimulant, and sat down to await the
+return of consciousness.
+
+But this was long delayed, and when, at last, Philip opened his eyes, he
+only rallied sufficiently to sleep.
+
+The doctor promised to come early next day, and left.
+
+Throughout Wednesday and Thursday Philip was partly delirious, waking at
+times to a vague consciousness of his surroundings, but mostly asking
+vacantly for "Evelyn."
+
+Often he fought with a person named "Jocky Mason," and explained that
+"Sir Philip" was not in Yorkshire at all.
+
+The wife of one of his rescuers was assiduous in her attentions. Most
+fortunately, for these fisherfolk were very poor, that lure spread
+beneath the cliff inveigled an unprecedented number of salmon, so she
+could afford to buy eggs and milk in abundance, and the doctor brought
+such medicines as were needed.
+
+Gradually Philip recovered, until, at nine o'clock, on Thursday night,
+he came into sudden and full use of his senses.
+
+Then the doctor was sent for urgently; Philip insisted on getting up at
+once. He was kept in bed almost by main force.
+
+With the doctor's arrival there was a further change. Here was an
+educated man, who listened attentively to his patient's story, and did
+not instantly conclude that he was raving.
+
+He helped, too, by his advice. It was utterly impossible to send a
+telegram to London that night. No matter what the sufferings of anxious
+friends concerning him, they could not be assuaged until the morning.
+
+Yes, he would find money and clothes, accompany him, if need be, on the
+journey if he were able to travel to-morrow--attend to all things, in
+fact, in his behalf--for millionaires are scarce birds in secluded
+moorland districts. But, meanwhile, he must take a drink of milk and
+beef essence, rest a little while, take this draught, in a small bottle
+indicated, and sleep.
+
+Sleep was quite essential. He would awake in the morning very much
+better. The knock on the head was not so serious as it looked at first
+sight. Probably he would not even feel it again if he wore a soft cap
+for some days. The broken skin was healing nicely, and concussion of the
+brain had as many gradations as fever, which ranges from a slight cold
+to Yellow Jack.
+
+In his case he was suffering from two severe shocks, but the crisis was
+passed, and he was able, even now, to get up if it could serve any
+possible purpose.
+
+All this, save the promise of help, the doctor said with his tongue in
+his cheek. He had not the slightest intention of permitting Philip to
+travel next day. It was out of the question. Better reason with him in
+the morning, and, if needful, bring his friends to Yorkshire rather than
+send him to London.
+
+But--the police must be informed at once. It was more than likely the
+criminals had left the Grange House soon after the attempted murder.
+Yet, if Philip did not object, a policeman should be summoned, and the
+tale told to him. The man should be warned to keep the story out of the
+papers.
+
+The arrival of the constable at a late hour created consternation in the
+household. But the doctor knew his people.
+
+"Have no fear, Mrs. Verril," he whispered to the fisherman's wife, "your
+husband caught a fine fish when he drew Mr. Anson into his net. He will
+not need to poach salmon any more."
+
+The doctor sat by Philip's bed while the policeman made clumsy notes of
+that eventful Tuesday night's occurrences.
+
+Then, in his turn, he amazed his hearers.
+
+He described his encounter with another Philip Anson in the highroad, at
+an hour when the real personage of that name was unquestionably being
+attended to by the doctor himself in the fisherman's cottage.
+
+"Ay," he said, in his broad Yorkshire dialect, "he was as like you, sir,
+as twea peas, on'y, now that I see ye, he wasn't sike a--sike a
+gentleman as you, an' he talked wi' a queer catch in his voice. T'uther
+chap 'ud be Jocky Mason, 'cordin' te your discription; soa it seems to
+me 'at this 'ere Dr. Williams, 'oo druv' you frae t' station, must ha'
+took yer clothes, an' twisted his feace te luke as mich like you as he
+could."
+
+The doctor cut short further conversation. He insisted on his patient
+seeking rest, but in response to Philip's urgent request, he wrote a
+long telegram, which he promised would be handed in when the Scarsdale
+telegraph office opened next morning.
+
+And this was Philip's message to Evelyn:
+
+     "I have suffered detention since Tuesday night at the hands of
+     Jocky Mason, whose name you will recollect, and another man,
+     unknown. I am now cared for by friends, and recovering rapidly from
+     injuries received in a struggle. I return to London to-day." The
+     doctor smiled, but said nothing. "My only fear is that you must
+     have endured terrible uncertainty, if by any chance you imagined I
+     was missing. Tell Abingdon.
+
+     "PHILIP ANSON."
+
+And then followed his address, care of the doctor.
+
+"Is that all?" said Anson's new-found friend.
+
+Philip smiled feebly, for he was very weak.
+
+"There is one matter, small in many ways, but important, too. You might
+add: 'I hope you have not lost Blue Atom by this mischance.'"
+
+He sank back exhausted.
+
+It was on the tip of the doctor's tongue to ask:
+
+"What in the world is a Blue Atom?"
+
+But he forbore. The sleeping potion was taking effect, and he would not
+retard it. He subsequently wrote a telegram on his own account:
+
+     "Mr. Anson is convalescing, but a journey to-day is impossible. A
+     reassuring message from you will save him from impatience, and help
+     his recovery. He has been delirious until last night. Now all he
+     needs is rest and freedom from worry."
+
+His man waited at Scarsdale post office until a reply came next day.
+Then he rode with it to the village where Philip was yet sleeping
+peacefully. Indeed, the clatter of hoofs without aroused him, and he
+opened his eyes to find the doctor sitting as though he had never
+quitted his side.
+
+Evelyn's message must have caused much speculation as to its true
+significance in the minds of those telegraphic officials through whose
+hands it passed.
+
+It read:
+
+     "Am absolutely bewildered. Cannot help feeling sure that news
+     received to-day really comes from you. In that case, who is it who
+     has been wiring repeatedly, in your name, from Station Hotel, York?
+     Do not know what to think. Am going immediately to Abingdon. Please
+     send more information. Suspense unbearable.
+
+     "EVELYN."
+
+If ever there was need for action it was needed now. Anson's strenuous
+energy brought forth the full strength of his indomitable will. The
+pallor fled from his cheeks, the dullness from his eyes.
+
+"Dr. Scarth," he cried, "you must not keep me here in view of that
+telegram from the woman I love. Believe me, I will be worse, not better,
+if you force me to remain inactive, chained almost helpless in this
+village, and miles away from even a telegraph office. Help me now, and
+you will never regret it. I ask you----"
+
+The doctor cut short his excited outburst.
+
+"Very well," he said. "Whatever you do, try and cease from troubling
+yourself about circumstances which a few hours will put right. I must
+return to my dispensary for one hour. Then I will come for you, bring
+some clothes and the necessary money, and we will leave Scarsdale for
+York at 2.30 P. M. That is the best I can promise. It must satisfy
+you."
+
+He gave hasty directions as to his patient's food, and left him.
+
+Another telegram arrived, with it the policeman, in the dogcart of the
+Fox and Hounds Inn.
+
+     "Abingdon went to Devonshire yesterday. His wife says he suspected
+     that something had gone wrong. Unhappily we do not know his
+     address, but he wires that he is not to be expected home to-day. Do
+     ask Dr. Scarth to send further news if unable yourself.
+
+     "EVELYN."
+
+Philip hesitated to be explicit as to the real nature of the outrage
+inflicted on him by Jocky Mason and his unknown accomplice. He hastily
+determined that the best assurance he could give to the distracted girl
+was one of his immediate departure from the village.
+
+The policeman helped him as to local information, and he wrote the
+following:
+
+     "Leaving Scarsdale at 2.30 P. M. Passing through Malton at four
+     o'clock, and reach York five-ten. Dr. Scarth permits journey, and
+     accompanies me. Send any further messages care of respective
+     station masters prior to hours named. Accept statement implicitly
+     that I will reach London to-night. Will wire you from York certain;
+     earlier if necessary. As for identity, you will recall May 15th,
+     Hyde Park, near Stanhope Gate, four o'clock."
+
+Evelyn and he alone knew that at that spot on the day and hour named,
+they became engaged.
+
+The policeman valiantly lent the few shillings necessary, and the sturdy
+horse from the Fox and Hounds tore back to Scarsdale.
+
+But the constable was of additional value. His researches in Scarsdale
+provided a fairly accurate history and description of the two denizens
+of the Grange House.
+
+Philip himself had, of course, seen "Dr. Williams" in broad daylight and
+undisguised--not yet could he remember where he heard that
+smooth-tongued voice. Jocky Mason he only pictured hazily after the
+lapse of years, but the policeman's details of his personal appearance
+coincided exactly with Philip's recollection, allowing for age and the
+hardships of convict life.
+
+At last came the doctor, with a valise.
+
+"I am sorry," he laughed, "but all the money I can muster at such short
+notice is twelve pounds."
+
+"I began life once before with three halfpence," was the cheery reply.
+
+The few inhabitants of the hamlet gathered to see them off, and the
+fisherman's wife was moved to screw her apron into her eyes when Philip
+shook hands with her, saying that she would see him again in a few days.
+
+"Eh, but he's a bonny lad," was her verdict. "'Twas a fair sham' te
+treat him soa."
+
+At Scarsdale and at Malton again came loving words from Evelyn. Now she
+knew who it was who telegraphed to her.
+
+And the mysterious Philip Anson at York remained dumb.
+
+"The wretch!" she said to her mother. "To dare to open my letter and
+send me impudent replies."
+
+More than once she thought of going to York to meet her lover, but she
+wisely decided against this course. Mr. Abingdon was out of town, and
+Philip might need some one he could trust to obey his instructions in
+London.
+
+At ten minutes past five Anson and Dr. Scarth arrived in York.
+
+A long discourse in the train gave them a plan. They would not appeal at
+once to the police. Better clear the mist that hid events before the aid
+of the law was invoked. There were two of them, and the assistance of
+the hotel people could be obtained if necessary.
+
+They hurried first to the station master's office. Anything for Anson?
+Yes. Only a few words of entreaty from Evelyn to avoid further risk.
+
+Then to the hotel. They sought the manager.
+
+"Is there a man staying here who represents that his name is Philip
+Anson?"
+
+The question was unusual in its form, disturbing in its innuendo. The
+man who asked it was pale, with unnaturally brilliant brown eyes, a
+gentleman in manner, but attired in ill-fitting garments, and beneath
+his tweed cap he wore a surgical bandage.
+
+And Philip Anson, the millionaire, of whom he spoke thus contemptuously,
+was staying in the hotel, and paying for its best rooms.
+
+But the manager was perfectly civil. The presence of Dr. Scarth, a
+reputable-looking stranger, gave evidence that something important was
+afoot. Mr. Anson was in his rooms at the moment. Their names would be
+sent up.
+
+Dr. Scarth, quick to appreciate the difficulties of the situation,
+intervened quietly.
+
+"Is he alone?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Then it will be better if you accompany us in person. An unpleasant
+matter can be arranged without undue publicity."
+
+This was alarming. The manager went with them instantly. They paused at
+the door indicated.
+
+"Come with me," said Philip, turning the handle without knocking.
+
+Grenier, intent on the perusal of a letter he had just written, looked
+up quickly.
+
+He was face to face with Philip Anson.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII.
+
+_A Settlement of Old Scores._
+
+
+The one man stood, the other sat, gazing at each other in a silence that
+was thrilling.
+
+Dr. Scarth and the hotel manager entered noiselessly, and closed the
+door behind them. Grenier, adroit scoundrel that he was, was bereft of
+speech, of the power to move. He harbored no delusions. This was no
+ghost coming to trouble his soul in broad daylight. It was Philip Anson
+himself, alive, and in full possession of his senses, a more terrible
+apparition than any visitor from beyond the grave. His presence in that
+room meant penal servitude for life for Victor Grenier, a prison cell
+instead of palatial chambers, bread and skilly in place of Carlton
+luncheons.
+
+No wonder the scoundrel was dumb, that his tongue was dry. He went cold
+all over, and his eyes swam.
+
+Philip advanced toward him. Grenier could not move. He was glued to his
+chair.
+
+"Who are you?" said Anson, sternly.
+
+No answer. As yet the acute brain refused to work. Lost--ruined--no
+escape--were the vague ideas that jostled each other in chaos.
+
+"Can you not speak? Who are you that dares to usurp my name, after
+striving to murder me?"
+
+No answer. The shifty eyes--the eyes of a detected pickpocket--wandered
+stupidly from Philip's set face to that of the perplexed hotel manager,
+and the gravely amused doctor.
+
+Philip never used strong language, but he was greatly tempted at that
+moment.
+
+"Confound you!" he shouted. "Why don't you answer me?"
+
+"I--I--my name is Philip Anson. The manager--the--bank."
+
+As a spent fox will vainly try the last despairing device of climbing a
+tree in full sight of the hounds, so did Victor Grenier evolve the
+desperate scheme that perhaps--perhaps--he might carry out a feeble
+pretense of self-assertion.
+
+If only he could get away, into the crowded station, into the streets,
+slink into obscurity while the chase swept past, he might yet endeavor
+to escape.
+
+"You Philip Anson! You vile impostor! I am sorely inclined to wring your
+neck!"
+
+Philip came nearer. In sheer fright lest the other might give effect to
+his words Grenier again backed his chair violently. It caught against a
+thick rug and he fell headlong. For an instant they all thought he had
+hurt himself seriously.
+
+The doctor and manager ran to pick him up, but he rose to his knees and
+whined:
+
+"I will tell everything. I mean, there is some mistake. Look at my
+letters, my bank books. They are Philip Anson's. Indeed, there is a
+mistake."
+
+On the table were many documents and a pile of bank notes. Everything
+was in order, neatly pinned and docketed. A number of telegrams, of
+which the topmost was signed "Evelyn," caught Philip's eye. He took them
+up. Not only were his betrothed's messages preserved, but copies of
+Grenier's replies were inserted in their proper sequence.
+
+And Evelyn's letters, too, lay before him. He flushed with anger as he
+read.
+
+"Oh," he cried, in a sudden blaze, "if I talk with this scoundrel I
+shall do him an injury. Send for the police. They will know how to deal
+with him."
+
+The mere mention of the police galvanized Grenier into the activity of a
+wild cat. He had risen to his feet and was standing limply between the
+doctor and manager when that hated word electrified him.
+
+With one spring he was free of them, rushing frantically to the door.
+After him went all three, the manager leading.
+
+Grenier tore the door open and got outside. It was a hopeless attempt.
+He would be stopped by hotel porters at the foot of the stairs by the
+manager's loud-voiced order. Yet he raced for dear liberty, trusting
+blindly to fate.
+
+And fate met him more than halfway.
+
+A tall man, coming upstairs with a page boy, encountered Grenier flying
+downward. He grabbed him in a clutch of iron and cried sardonically:
+
+"No, you don't! A word with me first, if the devil was at your heels!"
+
+Intent on his prize, he paid no heed to others.
+
+"Which is his room?" he said to the boy.
+
+"No. 41, sir!" stammered the youngster, who thought that millionaires
+should be treated with more ceremony than this wolf-eyed stranger
+bestowed on the great Mr. Anson.
+
+"Go on, then! I'll bring him."
+
+"It is Jocky Mason," murmured Philip to Dr. Scarth. With the manager
+they had halted in the corridor. Mason strode past them, with eyes only
+for the cowering Grenier, who was making piteous appeals to be set
+free.
+
+The stronger ruffian threw his confederate into Room 41, and was about
+to close the door when he saw Philip, close behind him.
+
+He stepped back a pace, mute, rigid, seeking with glaring eyes to learn
+whether or not he was the victim of hallucination.
+
+Philip knew him instantly. The voice he heard on the stairs, the
+policeman's rough but accurate picture, the recollection of the captive
+of Johnson's Mews, all combined to tell him that in truth Jocky Mason
+stood before him.
+
+More than that, the would-be murderer handled his accomplice in a way
+that promised interesting developments. Now, perchance, the truth might
+be ascertained. Escape was out of the question for either of them. The
+manager's cry had brought four strong porters pellmell to the spot.
+
+"You and I will enter," said Anson to Dr. Scarth. "You," to the manager,
+"might kindly remain here with your men for a few minutes."
+
+"Shall I summon the police?"
+
+"Not yet. I want to clear matters somewhat. They are dreadfully
+tangled."
+
+Mason, spellbound, but fearless as ever, heard the dead man speak, saw
+him move. He could not refuse the evidence of eyes and ears. As Philip
+advanced into the room, the giant put his hands wildly to his head, and
+sobbed brokenly:
+
+"Thank God! Thank God! For my boys' sake, not for mine!"
+
+His extraordinary attitude, his no less extraordinary words, amazed at
+least two of his hearers. Grenier, rendered callous now by sheer
+hopelessness, was pouring out some brandy and lighting a cigarette. The
+revulsion of feeling at the sight of Mason had calmed him. He would make
+the most of the few minutes that were left before he was handcuffed.
+
+Dr. Scarth took the precaution of locking the door, and putting the key
+into his pocket. It is doubtful if he would have done this had he known
+Mason's violent character. But, unknown to Philip, he carried a
+revolver, which he whipped forth when Grenier bolted, and as rapidly
+concealed when it was not needed.
+
+"You did not kill me, you see," said Philip, sinking into a chair, for
+the excitement was beginning to tell on him.
+
+The big man slowly dropped his hands. His prominent eyes seemed to be
+fascinated by the sight of one whom he threw apparently lifeless into
+the sea.
+
+"I could lick your boots," he said, thickly.
+
+The queer idea sounded ludicrous. Yet it conveyed a good deal. It
+smacked of remorse, repentance.
+
+"Tell me," began Philip, but a loud knocking without interrupted him.
+
+"Who is there?" said Dr. Scarth.
+
+"Abingdon. I want to see Mr. Anson," was the reply, in a voice that
+Philip hailed joyfully.
+
+Mr. Abingdon was admitted. His astonishment was extreme at the nature of
+the gathering, but he instantly noticed Philip's wan appearance, and the
+bandage on his head.
+
+"My dear, dear boy," he cried, "what has happened?"
+
+Philip told him briefly. As the ex-magistrate's glance rested on Mason
+and Grenier it became very chilly. It brought Portland Prison near to
+the soul of one of them. He poured out more spirit.
+
+The respite given by Mr. Abingdon's arrival gave Mason time to focus his
+thoughts. The man had lived in an inferno since he slipped away from his
+sons that morning on a plea of urgent business in order to catch a fast
+train for York in the afternoon.
+
+He knew that Grenier would make the Station Hotel his headquarters, and
+his sole desire was to stop that enterprising rogue from committing
+further crimes which might be damaging to Anson's estate, and disastrous
+to the peace of mind of the girl he loved.
+
+In no way did he hold Grenier responsible for urging him to commit
+murder. The journey to York was undertaken in the first place to save
+Philip's memory from the slur which was intended to be cast upon it,
+and, secondly, to afford a plausible pretext for a platform accident
+whereby his own life should be dashed out of him by an engine.
+
+He would stumble over a barrow, fall helplessly in front of an incoming
+train, and end his career far from London, far from inquiry and
+published reports which might be injurious to his sons.
+
+It might, perhaps, be necessary to use forcible means to persuade
+Grenier to abandon his tactics. They would be forthcoming; he gave
+earnest of that on the stairs.
+
+Of course, the discovery that Philip lived gave a fresh direction to his
+purpose. A great load of guilt was lifted off his conscience, but the
+position remained little less serious personally.
+
+So when, at last, he began to tell his story, there was a brutal
+directness, a rough eloquence, that silenced all questioning.
+
+At first his hearers thought he was rambling and incoherent as he
+described his release from jail, his visit to the Mary Anson Home, his
+long and fruitless search for the lost boys.
+
+He told of his meeting with Grenier, the espionage they both practiced
+on Anson's movements, and the plot hatched with Langdon, whose
+relationship with Sir Philip and Lady Morland now first became known to
+Philip.
+
+He was quite fair to Grenier, giving him full credit for having stopped
+him more than once from murdering Philip when opportunities presented
+themselves. He dealt ruthlessly with the scene in the Grange House, even
+smiling dreadfully as he described Grenier's squeamishness over the
+suggestion that Philip's face should be battered into a shapeless mass.
+
+Then followed his journey to London, the meeting with his two sons at
+Southwark Police Station, and the torturing knowledge, coming too late,
+that he had slain the benefactor of his wife and children.
+
+There was an overwhelming pathos in his recital of the boys' kindness to
+him. He gave a lurid picture of his feelings during the previous night
+as he listened to their praises of Philip Anson, and their pleasant
+plans for their father's future. He only winced once, and that was at
+the remembrance of the parting a few hours ago.
+
+And he finished by a pitiful appeal for mercy, not for himself, but for
+Grenier!
+
+"I put the whole thing into his mind, Mr. Anson," he said. "He would
+never have thought of robbing you but for me. Let him go, make him leave
+the country. He will never trouble you again. As for me, when I go from
+this room, I walk to my death. You can't stop me. I will not lay hands
+on you, I promise, but not all the men in waiting there outside can hold
+me back. In five minutes, or less, I will be dead. It will be an
+accident. No one will be the wiser, and my boys will be spared the
+knowledge that their father tried to kill the man to whom they owe
+everything."
+
+This amazing stipulation, backed up by a fearless threat, be it noticed,
+drew an indignant protest from Mr. Abingdon. Philip said nothing.
+
+"Oh, very well," growled Mason. "There is another way."
+
+His right hand dived into a pocket, and Dr. Scarth again fingered his
+revolver.
+
+But Philip cried imperiously:
+
+"Sit still, Mason. I have heard all that you have to say. Be quiet, I
+tell you. Wait until I refuse your request."
+
+"My dear boy," interrupted Mr. Abingdon, who knew Philip's generous
+impulses, "you will never think of condoning----"
+
+"Forgive me! Let me carry matters a stage further. Now you, Grenier.
+What have you to say?"
+
+"Very little!" was the cool response. "My excellent friend has made a
+clean breast of everything. You didn't die, and so spoiled the finest
+coup that ever man dreamed of. I had no difficulty in concocting the
+requisite epistles from Sir Philip and Lady Morland. Your London bank
+accepted my signatures with touching confidence. I have opened two
+accounts in your name, one in York and one in Leeds, five thousand
+pounds each. This morning I heard from London that one hundred and fifty
+thousand pounds of your Consols had been realized, and placed to your
+current account. Just to be feeling the pulse of the local money market,
+I drew out two thousand pounds to-day. It is there, in notes, on the
+table. You will also find the check books and passbooks in perfect
+order. Oh, by the way, I told your man Green to open your safe and send
+me your mysterious portmanteau. It is in my bedroom. That is all, I
+think. I am sorry if I worried the young lady----"
+
+"You unutterable scamp," cried Philip.
+
+"Well, I had to keep her quiet, you know. As it was, she suspected me. I
+suppose my messages hadn't the proper ring in them. And--what the deuce
+is a Blue Atom?"
+
+Dr. Scarth was even more interested than ever, if possible.
+
+"Blue Atom! Blue Atom is a nobler specimen of a dog than yourself. He is
+a prize toy Pomeranian; you are a mongrel."
+
+Grenier, for an instant, grew confused again. He sighed deeply.
+
+"A dog!" he murmured. "A blue Pomeranian! Who would have guessed it?"
+
+Philip turned to Mason.
+
+"If I leave you here alone with this man, Grenier, will you keep him out
+of mischief?"
+
+Jocky gave his associate a glance which caused that worthy to sit down
+suddenly.
+
+"And yourself? Promise that you will remain as you are until I return?"
+
+"I promise."
+
+Anson led his friends from the room. He thanked the manager for the
+assistance he had given, and told him the affair might be arranged
+without police interference.
+
+Long and earnestly did he confer with Mr. Abingdon. It was a serious
+thing to let these men off scot-free. Grenier's case was worse, in a
+sense, than that of Mason.
+
+There were three banks involved, and, forgery, to a bank, is a crime not
+to be forgiven. There was a dubious way out. Philip might accept
+responsibility for Grenier's transactions. If the London bank accepted
+Grenier's signature for his, surely the local institutions would accept
+his for Grenier's.
+
+Mr. Abingdon was wroth at the bare suggestion.
+
+"You will be forging your own name," he protested, vehemently.
+
+"Very well, then. He shall write checks payable to self or order,
+indorse them, and I will pay them into my account."
+
+"I dare not approve of any such procedure."
+
+So Philip, though sorely tried, again labored his arguments that the
+trial of Grenier would be a cause _célèbre_ in which his, Anson's, name
+would be unpleasantly prominent. Evelyn would be drawn into it, and
+Abingdon himself. There would be columns of sensation in the newspapers.
+
+Moreover, it was quite certain that Jocky Mason would commit suicide
+unless they captured him by a subterfuge, and then the whole story would
+leak out.
+
+It ended by Philip gaining the day, for, at the bottom of his heart,
+Abingdon was touched by Mason's story--thoroughpaced ruffian though he
+was.
+
+They re-entered No. 41. The pair were sitting as they were left; Grenier
+was not even smoking. The affair of the Blue Atom had deeply wounded his
+vanity.
+
+Philip walked straight to Mason, and took him by the shoulder.
+
+"Now, listen to me," he said. "I gave you one crack on the head, and you
+have given me one. Shall we say that accounts are squared?"
+
+"Do you mean it, sir?"
+
+"Yes, absolutely."
+
+"Then, all I can say is this, sir. During the rest of my life I'll make
+good use of the chance you have given me. God bless you, for my boys'
+sake, more than my own."
+
+"And you," went on Philip, turning to the disconsolate Grenier. "Will
+you leave England and make a fresh start in a new land? You are young
+enough, and clever enough, in some respects, to earn an honest living."
+
+"I will, sir. I swear it."
+
+The utter collapse of his castle in Spain had sobered him. The gates of
+Portland were yawning open for him, and the goodness of the man he had
+wronged had closed them in his face. Never again would he see their grim
+front if he could help it.
+
+He readily gave every assistance in the brief investigation that
+followed. Mr. Abingdon looked on askance as he wrote checks for three
+thousand pounds and five thousand pounds on the York and Leeds banks
+respectively, but even Philip himself gave an astonished laugh when he
+saw his own signature written with quiet certainty and accuracy.
+
+"Oh, that's nothing," cried Grenier, in momentary elation. "I took in
+Mr. Abingdon, and sent a complete letter to the London bank."
+
+"You did not take me in," growled Abingdon. "You made one fatal
+mistake."
+
+"And what was that, sir?"
+
+"You alluded to the annual report of the 'Home.' Everyone connected with
+that establishment, from the founder down to the latest office boy,
+invariably calls it the 'Mary Anson Home.' Mr. Anson would never write
+of it in other terms."
+
+Grenier was again abashed.
+
+"Have you any money in your pocket?" said Philip, when the forger had
+accounted for every farthing.
+
+For one appreciable instant Grenier hesitated. Then he flushed. He had
+resisted temptation.
+
+"Yes," he said, "plenty. Langdon supplied me with funds."
+
+"How much?"
+
+"Two hundred and fifty pounds. I have over seventy left."
+
+"I will arrange matters with him. Come to my West End office next
+Monday, and you will be given sufficient to keep you from poverty and
+crime until you find your feet in Canada. Remember, you sail on
+Wednesday."
+
+"No fear of any failure on my part, sir. I can hardly credit my
+good--or, what I want to say is, I can never thank you sufficiently."
+
+"Pay Mason's fare to London. Better stay with him. His sons may have a
+good influence on you, too."
+
+Mason rose heavily.
+
+"I'll find him a job, sir. He can pack your bag."
+
+The words recalled to Philip the knowledge of his incongruous attire.
+Soon he wore his own clothes. He refused to allow Grenier to divest
+himself of the garments he wore, but he was glad to see his old watch
+again.
+
+Dr. Scarth bade them farewell and returned to Scarsdale by the last
+train.
+
+Philip and Abingdon arrived in London at 2.15 A.M. On the platform,
+accompanied by her mother, was Evelyn.
+
+She wept all the way to Mount Street, where Philip would be accommodated
+for the night. She cried again when she saw his poor, wounded head; but
+she laughed through her tears when she ran off to fetch a very small and
+very sleepy dog, with long blue hair falling in shaggy masses over his
+eyes and curling wonderfully over his tiny body.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Mr. James Crichton Langdon was imperatively summoned to London, and
+given such a lecture by Mr. Abingdon that he so far abandoned the error
+of his ways as to strive to forget that such a person as Evelyn Atherley
+existed.
+
+The ex-magistrate had seen him in Devonshire, and was so skeptical of
+his statements concerning the whereabouts of Sir Philip and Lady Morland
+that he traveled direct to York, via Gloucester and Birmingham, to clear
+up with Philip in person a mystery rendered more dense by the curious
+letter and telegram he received in London.
+
+One day, in August, the _Sea Maiden_ dropped anchor off the Yorkshire
+coast not far from the gaunt cliff on which stood Grange House.
+
+Dr. Scarth entertained Mr. and Mrs. Anson in his house for the night,
+and some of the men were allowed ashore.
+
+They came back full of a story they had heard, how the "skipper" had met
+with a mishap on the big point to s'uth'ard, was rescued by three
+fishermen, and had bought for each man the freehold of the house in
+which he lived, besides presenting them jointly with a fine smack.
+
+"He's a rare good sort, there's no doubt about that," said the chief
+narrator, "an', of course, 'e can afford to do that sort of thing, bein'
+the King o' Diamonds."
+
+"He's more than the King of Diamonds; he's the King of Trumps," observed
+a gigantic, broken-nosed stoker, who listened to the yarn, not being one
+of the shore-going men.
+
+"You've known him this long time, haven't you, Mason?" said the first
+speaker.
+
+"Yes--ever since he was a bit of a boy. Ten years it must be. But we
+lost sight of each other--until I met him the other day. Then he gave me
+a job--for the sake of old times!"
+
+
+THE END.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The King of Diamonds, by Louis Tracy
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 40493 ***