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diff --git a/40493-8.txt b/40493-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 7084fb6..0000000 --- a/40493-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,10997 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The King of Diamonds, by Louis Tracy - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: The King of Diamonds - A Tale of Mystery and Adventure - -Author: Louis Tracy - -Release Date: August 13, 2012 [EBook #40493] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE KING OF DIAMONDS *** - - - - -Produced by D Alexander, Mary Meehan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - - - - - - - - - - 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 THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE KING OF DIAMONDS *** - -***** This file should be named 40493-8.txt or 40493-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/0/4/9/40493/ - -Produced by D Alexander, Mary Meehan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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