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diff --git a/40493-0.txt b/40493-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2f9167a --- /dev/null +++ b/40493-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,10605 @@ +*** 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 *** |