CHAPTER NINE
WHOSE WERE THOSE RINGS?
Paying no attention to another attempted murmur of advice from Melky, who seemed to be on pins and needles, Lauriston at once jumped to his feet and strode to the witness-box. The women in the public seats glanced at him with admiring interest—such a fine-looking young fellow, whispered one sentimental lady to another, to have set about a poor old gentleman like Mr. Multenius! And everybody else, from the Coroner to the newspaper reporter—who was beginning to think he would get some good copy, after all, that morning—regarded him with attention. Here, at any rate, was the one witness who had actually found the pawnbroker's dead body.
Lauriston, his colour heightened a little under all this attention, answered the preliminary questions readily enough. His name was Andrew Carruthers Lauriston. His age—nearly twenty-two. He was a native of Peebles, in Scotland—the only son of the late Andrew Lauriston. His father was a minister of the Free Church. His mother was dead, too. He himself had come to London about two years ago—just after his mother's death. For the past few weeks he had lodged with Mrs. Flitwick, in Star Street—that was his present address. He was a writer of fiction—stories and novels. He had heard all the evidence already given, including that of the last witness, Hollinshaw. All that Hollinshaw had said was quite true. It was quite true that he had gone to Multenius's pawnshop about five-thirty of the previous afternoon, on his own business. He had looked in through both doors and window before entering the side-door: he wanted to know who was in the shop—whether it was Mr. Multenius, or his grand-daughter. He wanted to know that for a simple reason—he had never done business with Mr. Multenius, never even seen him that he remembered, but he had had one transaction with Miss Wildrose, and he wished, if possible, to do his business with her. As a matter of fact he saw nobody inside the shop when he looked in through the front door and the window—so he went round to the side-entrance.
All this had come in answer to questions put by the Coroner—who now paused and looked at Lauriston not unkindly.
"I daresay you are already aware that there is, or may be, some amount of suspicious circumstances attaching to your visit to this place yesterday afternoon," he said. "Do you care to tell the court—in your own way—precisely what took place, what you discovered, after you entered the pawnshop?"
"That's exactly what I wish to do," answered Lauriston, readily. "I've already told it, more than once, to the police and Mr. Multenius's relatives—I'll tell it again, as plainly and briefly as I can. I went into one of the compartments just within the side-door of the place. I saw no one, and heard no one. I rapped on the counter—nobody came. So I looked round the partition into the front shop. There was no one there. Then I looked round the other partition into the back parlour, the door of which was wide open. I at once saw an old man whom I took to be Mr. Multenius. He was lying on the floor—his feet were towards the open door, and his head on the hearth-rug, near the fender. I immediately jumped over the counter, and went into the parlour. I saw at once that he was dead—and almost immediately I hurried to the front door, to summon assistance. At the door I ran into Mr. Ayscough, who was entering as I opened the door. I at once told him of what I had found. That is the plain truth as to all I know of the matter."
"You heard nothing of any person in or about the shop when you entered?" asked the Coroner.
"Nothing!" replied Lauriston. "It was all perfectly quiet."
"What had you gone there to do?"
"To borrow some money—on two rings."
"Your own property?"
"My own property!"
"Had you been there before, on any errand of that sort?"
"Only once."
"When was that?"
"Last week," answered Lauriston. "I pawned my watch there."
"You have, in fact, been short of money?"
"Yes. But only temporarily—I was expecting money."
"I hope it has since arrived," said the Coroner.
"Mr. Ayscough was with me when it did arrive," replied Lauriston, glancing at the detective. "We found it—two letters—at my lodgings when he walked round there with me after what I have just told you of."
"You had done your business on that previous occasion with the grand-daughter?" asked the Coroner. "You had not seen the old man, then?"
"I never to my knowledge saw Mr. Multenius till I found him lying dead in his own parlour," answered Lauriston.
The Coroner turned from the witness, and glanced towards the table at which Mr. Parminter and the police officials sat. And Mr. Parminter slowly rose and looked at Lauriston, and put his first question—in a quiet, almost suave voice, as if he and the witness were going to have a pleasant and friendly little talk together.
"So your ambition is to be a writer of fiction?" he asked.
"I am a writer of fiction!" replied Lauriston.
Mr. Parminter pulled out a snuff-box and helped himself to a pinch.
"Have you published much?" he enquired, drily.
"Two or three stories—short stories."
"Did they bring in much money?"
"Five pounds each."
"Have you done anything else for a living but that since you came to London two years ago?"
"No, I haven't!"
"How much have you earned by your pen since you came, now?"
"About thirty pounds."
"Thirty pounds in two years. What have you lived on, then?"
"I had money of my own," replied Lauriston. "I had two hundred pounds when I left home."
"And that gave out—when?" demanded Mr. Parminter.
"Last week."
"And so—you took your watch to the pawnshop. And—yesterday—your expected money not having arrived, you were obliged to visit the pawnshop again? Taking with you, you said just now, two rings—your own property. Am I correct?"
"Quite correct—two rings—my own property."
Mr. Parminter turned and spoke to a police official, who, lifting aside a sheet of brown paper which lay before him, revealed the tray of rings which Lauriston and Ayscough had found on the table in Multenius's parlour. At the same time, Mr. Parminter, lifting his papers, revealed Lauriston's rings. He picked them up, laid them on the palm of his hand, and held them towards the witness.
"Are these the rings you took to the pawnshop?" he asked.
"Yes!" replied Lauriston. "They were my mother's."
Mr. Parminter indicated the tray.
"Did you see this tray lying in the parlour in which you found the dead man?" he enquired.
"I did."
"Did it strike you that your own rings were remarkably like the rings in this tray?"
"No, it did not," answered Lauriston. "I know nothing about rings."
Mr. Parminter quietly passed the tray of rings to the Coroner, with Lauriston's rings lying on a sheet of paper.
"Perhaps you will examine these things and direct the attention of the jurymen to them?" he said, and turned to the witness-box again. "I want to ask you a very particular question," he continued. "You had better consider it well before answering it—it is more important—to you—than may appear at first hearing. Can you bring any satisfactory proof that those two rings which you claim to be yours, really are yours?"
There followed on that a dead silence in court. People had been coming in since the proceedings had opened, and the place was now packed to the door. Every eye was turned on Lauriston as he stood in the witness-box, evidently thinking deeply. And in two pairs of eyes there was deep anxiety: Melky was nervous and fidgety; Zillah was palpably greatly concerned. But Lauriston looked at neither—and he finally turned to Mr. Parminter with a candid glance.
"The rings are mine," he answered. "But—I don't know how I can prove that they are!"
A suppressed murmur ran round the court—in the middle of it, the Coroner handed the rings to a police official and motioned him to show them to the jurymen. And Mr. Parminter's suave voice was heard again.
"You can't prove that they are yours."
"May I explain?" asked Lauriston. "Very well—there may be people, old friends, who have seen those two rings in my mother's possession. But I don't know where to find such people. If it's necessary, I can try."
"I should certainly try, if I were you," observed Mr. Parminter, drily.
"Now, when did those two rings come into your possession?"
"When my mother died," replied Lauriston.
"Where have you kept them?"
"Locked up in my trunk."
"Have you ever, at any time, or any occasion, shown them to any person? Think!"
"No," answered Lauriston. "I can't say that I ever have."
"Not even at the time of your mother's death?"
"No! I took possession, of course, of all her effects. I don't remember showing the rings to anybody."
"You kept them in your trunk until you took them out to raise money on them?"
"Yes—that's so," admitted Lauriston.
"How much money had you—in the world—when you went to the pawnshop yesterday afternoon?" demanded Mr. Parminter, with a sudden keen glance.
Lauriston flushed scarlet.
"If you insist on knowing," he said. "I'd just nothing."
There was another murmur in court—of pity from the sentimental ladies in the public seats, who, being well acquainted with the pawnshops themselves, and with the necessities which drove them there were experiencing much fellow-feeling for the poor young man in the witness-box. But Lauriston suddenly smiled—triumphantly.
"All the same," he added, glancing at Mr. Parminter. "I'd forty pounds, in my letters, less than an hour afterwards. Ayscough knows that!"
Mr. Parminter paid no attention to this remark. He had been whispering to the police inspector, and now he turned to the Coroner.
"I should like this witness to stand down for a few minutes, sir," he said. "I wish to have Miss Wildrose recalled."
The Coroner gently motioned Zillah to go back to the witness-box.
CHAPTER TEN
MELKY INTERVENES
Zillah had listened to Lauriston's answers to Mr. Parminter's searching questions with an anxiety which was obvious to those who sat near her. The signs of that anxiety were redoubled as she walked slowly to the box, and the glance she threw at the Coroner was almost appealing. But the Coroner was looking at his notes, and Zillah was obliged to turn to Mr. Parminter, whose accents became more mellifluous than ever as he addressed her; Mr. Parminter, indeed, confronting Zillah might have been taken for a kindly benevolent gentleman whose sole object was to administer condolence and comfort. Few people in court, however, failed to see the meaning of the questions which he began to put in the suavest and softest of tones.
"I believe you assisted your late grandfather in his business?" suggested Mr. Parminter.
"Just so! Now, how long had you assisted him in that way?"
"Ever since I left school—three years ago," replied Zillah.
"Three years—to be sure! And I believe you had resided with him for some years before that?"
"Ever since I was a little girl," admitted Zillah.
"In fact, the late Mr. Multenius brought you up? Just so!—therefore, of course, you would have some acquaintance with his business before you left school?"
"Yes—he taught me a good deal about it."
"You were always about the place, of course—yes? And I may take it that you gradually got a good deal of knowledge about the articles with which your grandfather had to deal? To be sure—thank you. In fact, you are entitled to regard yourself as something of an expert in precious stones and metals?"
"I know a good deal about them," replied Zillah.
"You could tell the value of a thing as accurately as your grandfather?"
"Ordinary things—yes."
"And you were very well acquainted with your grandfather's stock?"
"Yes."
Mr. Parminter motioned the official who had charge of it to place the tray of rings on the ledge of the witness-box.
"Oblige me by looking at that tray and the contents," he said. "You recognize it, of course? Just so. Now, do you know where that tray was when you went out, leaving your grandfather alone, yesterday afternoon?"
"Yes," replied Zillah, unhesitatingly. "On the table in the back-parlour—where I saw it when I came in. My grandfather had taken it out of the front window, so that he could polish the rings."
"Do you know how many rings it contained?"
"No. Perhaps twenty-five or thirty."
"They are, I see, laid loosely in the tray, which is velvet-lined. They were always left like that? Just so. And you don't know how many there were—nor how many there should be there, now? As a matter of fact, there are twenty-seven rings there—you can't say that is the right number?"
"No," answered Zillah, "and my grandfather couldn't have said, either. A ring might be dropped into that tray—or a ring taken out. They are all old rings."
"But—valuable?" suggested Mr. Parminter.
"Some—yes. Others are not very valuable."
"Now what do you mean by that word valuable? What, for instance, is the value of the least valuable ring there, and what is that of the most valuable?"
Zillah glanced almost indifferently at the tray before her.
"Some of these rings are worth no more than five pounds," she replied. "Some—a few—are worth twenty to thirty pounds; one or two are worth more."
"And—they are all old?"
"They are all of old-fashioned workmanship," said Zillah. "Made a good many years ago, all of them. The diamonds, or pearls, are all right, of course."
Mr. Parminter handed over the half-sheet of paper on which Lauriston's rings had been exhibited to the Coroner and the jurymen.
"Look at those rings, if you please," he said quietly. "Are they of the same sort, the same class, of rings as those in the tray?"
"Yes," admitted Zillah. "Something the same."
"What is the value of those rings—separately?" enquired Mr. Parminter.
"Please give us your professional opinion."
Zillah bent over the two rings for a while, turning them about.
"This is worth about thirty, and that about fifty pounds," she replied at last.
"In other words, these two rings are similar in style and value to the best rings in that tray?"
"Yes."
"Do you recognize those two rings?"
"No—not at all."
Mr. Parminter paused a moment, and caught the jury's attention with a sharp glance of his eye before he turned again to the witness.
"Could you have recognized any of the rings in that tray?" he asked.
"No!" said Zillah. "I could not."
"Then you could not possibly say—one way or another, if those rings were taken out of that tray?"
"No!"
"The fact is that all those rings—the two on the half-sheet of notepaper, and twenty-seven on the tray—are all of the same class as regards age and style—all very much of a muchness?"
"Yes," admitted Zillah.
"And you can't—you are on your oath remember!—you can't definitely say that those two rings were not picked up from that tray, amongst the others?"
"No," replied Zillah. "But I can't say that they were! And—I don't believe they were. I don't believe they were our rings!"
Mr. Parminter smiled quietly and again swept the interested jurymen with his quick glance.
Then he turned to Zillah with another set of questions.
"How long have you known the last witness—Andrew Lauriston?" he enquired.
"Since one day last week," replied Zillah.
She had flushed at the mention of Lauriston's name, and Mr. Parminter was quick to see it.
"How did you get to know him?" he continued.
"By his coming to the shop—on business."
"To pawn his watch, I believe?"
"Yes."
"You attended to him?"
"Yes."
"You had never seen him before?"
"No."
"Ever seen him since?"
Zillah hesitated for a moment.
"I saw him—accidentally—in Kensington Gardens, on Sunday," she answered at last.
"Have any conversation with him?"
"Yes," admitted Zillah.
"About—pawnbroking?"
"No!" retorted Zillah. "About his work—writing."
"Did he tell you he was very hard up?"
"I knew that!" said Zillah. "Hadn't he pawned his watch?"
"Perhaps—you seem to be a very good business woman—perhaps you gave him some advice?"
"Yes, I did! I advised him, as long as he'd anything on which he could raise money, not to let himself go without money in his pocket."
"Excellent advice!" said Mr. Parminter, with a smile.
He leaned forward, looking at his witness more earnestly. "Now, did Lauriston, on Sunday, or when you saw him before, ever mention to you that he possessed two rings of some value?"
"No," replied Zillah.
Mr. Parminter paused, hesitated, suddenly bowed to the Coroner, and dropping back into his seat, pulled out his snuff-box. And the Coroner, motioning Zillah to leave the witness-box, interrupted Mr. Parminter in the midst of a pinch of snuff.
"I think it will be best to adjourn at this stage," he said. "It is obvious that we can't finish this today." He turned to the jurymen. "I propose to adjourn this enquiry for a week, gentlemen," he went on. "In the meantime—"
His attention was suddenly arrested by Melky Rubinstein, who, after much uneasiness and fidgeting, rose from his seat and made his way to the foot of the table, manifestly desiring to speak.
"What is it?" asked the Coroner. "Who are you? Oh!—the witness who identified the body. Yes?"
"Mr. Coroner!" said Melky, in his most solemn tones. "This here inquest ain't being conducted right, sir! I don't mean by you—but these here gentlemen, the police, and Mr. Parminter there, is going off on a wrong scent. I know what they're after, and they're wrong! They're suppressing evidence, Mr. Coroner." Melky turned on Ayscough. "What about the clue o' this here old book?" he demanded. "Why ain't you bringing that forward? I'm the late Daniel Multenius's nearest male relative, and I say that clue's a deal more important nor what we've been hearing all the morning. What about that book, now, Mr. Ayscough? Come on!—what about it!—and its owner?"
"What is this?" demanded the Coroner. "If there is anything—"
"Anything, sir!" exclaimed Melky. "There's just this—between the time that my cousin there, Miss Zillah Wildrose left the old man alive, and the time when Mr. Lauriston found him dead, somebody came into the shop as left a valuable book behind him on the parlour table, which book, according to all the advertisements in the morning papers, is the property of Mr. Spencer Levendale, the Member of Parliament, as lives in Sussex Square. Why ain't that matter brought up? Why ain't Mr. Levendale brought here? I ask you, Mr. Coroner, to have it seen into! There's more behind it—"
The Coroner held up a hand and beckoned the police inspector and Mr. Parminter to approach his desk; a moment later, Ayscough was summoned. And Lauriston, watching the result of this conference, was quickly aware that the Coroner was not particularly pleased; he suddenly turned on the inspector with a question which was heard by every one in court.
"Why was not the matter of the book put before the Court at first?" he demanded. "It seems to me that there may be a most important clue in it. The fact of the book's having been found should most certainly have been mentioned, at once. I shall adjourn for a week, from today, and you will produce the book and bring Mr. Spencer Levendale here as a witness. This day week, gentlemen!"
Melky Rubinstein turned, whispered a hurried word to Zillah and Mrs. Goldmark, and then, seizing Lauriston by the elbow, drew him quickly away from the court.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THE BACK DOOR
Once outside in the street, Melky turned down the nearest side-street, motioning Lauriston to follow him. Before they had gone many yards he edged himself close to his companion's side, at the same time throwing a cautious glance over his own shoulder.
"There's one o' them blooming detectives after us!" said Melky. "But that's just what's to be expected, mister!—they'll never let you out o' their sight until one of two things happen!"
"What things?" asked Lauriston.
"Either you'll have to prove, beyond all doubt, that them rings is yours, and was your poor mother's before you," answered Melky, "or we shall have to put a hand on the chap that scragged my uncle. That's a fact! Mister!—will you put your trust and confidence in me, and do what I tell you? It's for your own good."
"I don't know that I could do better," responded Lauriston, after a moment's thought. "You're a right good fellow, Melky—I'm sure of that! What do you want me to do?"
Melky pulled out a handsome gold watch and consulted it.
"It's dinner-time," he said. "Come round to Mrs. Goldmark's and get some grub. I'll tell you what to do while we're eating. I've been thinking things over while that there Parminter was badgering poor Zillah, and s'elp me, there only is one thing for you to do, and you'd best to do it sharp! But come on to Praed Street—don't matter if this here chap behind does shadow you—I can get the better of him as easy as I could sell this watch! It 'ud take all the detectives in London to beat me, if I put my mind to it."
They were at Mrs. Goldmark's eating-house in five minutes: Melky, who knew all the ins and outs of that establishment, conducted Lauriston into an inner room, and to a corner wherein there was comparative privacy, and summoned a waitress. Not until he and his companion were half way through their meal did he refer to the business which was in his thoughts: then he leaned close to Lauriston and began to talk.
"Mister!" he whispered. "Where do you come from?"
"Peebles," answered Lauriston. "You heard me tell them so, in that court."
"I'm no scholar," said Melky. "I ain't no idea where Peebles is, except that it's in Scotland. Is it far into that country, or where is it?"
"Not far across the Border," replied Lauriston.
"Get there in a few hours, I reckon?" asked Melky. "You could? Very well, then, mister, you take my tip—get there! Get there—quick!"
Lauriston laid down his knife and fork and stared.
"Whatever for?" he exclaimed.
"To find somebody—anybody—as can prove that those rings are yours!" answered Melky solemnly and emphatically. "Tain't no use denying it—you're in a dangerous position. The police always goes for the straightest and easiest line. Their line was clear enough, just now—Parminter give it away! They've a theory—they always have a theory—and when once police gets a theory, nothing can drive it out o' their heads—their official heads, anyway. What they're saying, and what they'll try to establish, is this here. That you were hard up, down to less than your last penny. You went to Mr. Multenius's—you peeked and peered through the shop window and saw him alone, or, perhaps, saw the place empty. You went in—you grabbed a couple o' rings—he interrupted you—you scragged him! That's their line—and Zillah can't swear that those rings which you claim to be yours aren't her grandfather's, and up to now you can't prove that they're yours and were once your mother's! Mister!—be off to this here Peebles at once—immediate!—and find somebody, some old friend, as can swear that he or she—never mind which—knows them rings to be your property beyond a shadow of doubt! Bring that friend back—bring him if he has to come in an invalid carriage!"
Lauriston was so much struck by Melky's argument and advice that it needed no more explanations to convince him of its wisdom.
"But—how could I get away'" he asked. "There'll be that detective chap hanging about outside—I know I've been shadowed ever since last evening! They'll never let me get away from London, however much I wish. The probability is that if they saw me going to a railway station they'd arrest me."
"My own opinion, mister, after what's taken place this morning, is that if you stop here, you'll be arrested before night," remarked Melky coolly. "I'd lay a tenner on it! But you ain't going to stop—you must go! There must be somebody in the old spot as can swear that them two rings o' yours is family property, and you must find 'em and bring 'em, if you value your neck. As to slipping the police, I'll make that right for you, proper! Now, then, what money have you about you, Mr. Lauriston?"
"Plenty!" answered Lauriston. "Nearly forty pounds—the money I got last night."
"Will you do exactly what I tell you?" asked Melky, "And do it at once, without any hesitation, any hanging about, any going home to Mother Flitwick's, or anything o' that sort?"
"Yes!" replied Lauriston. "I'm so sure you're right, that I will."
"Then you listen to me—careful," said Melky. "See that door in the corner? As soon as you've finished that pudding, slip out o' that door. You'll find yourself in a little yard. Go out o' that yard, and you'll find yourself in a narrow passage. Go straight down the passage, and you'll come out in Market Street. Go straight down Southwick Street—you know it—to Oxford and Cambridge Terrace, and you'll see a cab-rank right in front of you. Get into a taxi, and tell the fellow to drive you to Piccadilly Circus. Leave him there—take a turn round so's he won't see what you do—then get into another taxi, and drive to St. Pancras Church. Get out there—and foot it to King's Cross Station. You'll catch the 3.15 for the North easy—and after you're once in it, you're all right. Get to Peebles!—that's the thing! S'elp me, Mr. Lauriston, it's the only thing!"
Five minutes later, there being no one but themselves in the little room, Lauriston gave Melky a hearty grip of the hand, walked out of the door in the corner, and vanished. And Melky, left alone, pulled out his cigarette case, and began to smoke, calmly and quietly. When the waitress came back, he whispered a word or two to her; the waitress nodded with full comprehension—for everybody knew Melky at Goldmark's, and if the waitresses wanted a little jewellery now and then, he let them have it at cost price.
"So you can give me the checks for both," said Melky. "I'll pay 'em."
But Melky let three-quarters of an hour elapse before he went to the desk in the outer shop. He sipped a cup of coffee; he smoked several cigarettes; it was quite a long time before he emerged into Praed Street, buttoning his overcoat. And without appearing to see anything, he at once saw the man who had followed Lauriston and himself from the Coroner's Court. Being almost preternaturally observant, he also saw the man start with surprise—but Melky showed, and felt, no surprise, when the watcher came after him.
"You know me, Mr. Rubinstein," he said, almost apologetically. "You know, of course, we're keeping an eye on that young Scotch fellow—we've got to! He went in there, to Goldmark's, with you? Is he still there?"
"Strikes me you ain't up to your job!" remarked Melky, coolly. "He went out, three-quarters of an hour ago. Gone home, I should say."
The man turned away, evidently puzzled, but just as evidently taking Melky's word. He went off in the direction of Star Street, while Melky strolled along to the pawnbroker's shop. It was necessary that he should tell his cousin of what he had done.
Mrs. Goldmark was still with Zillah—Melky unfolded his story to the two of them. Zillah heard it with unfeigned relief; Mrs. Goldmark, who, being a young and pretty widow, was inclined to sentiment, regarded Melky with admiration.
"My!—if you ain't the cute one, Mr. Rubinstein!" she exclaimed, clapping her plump hands. "As for me, now, I wouldn't have thought of that in a hundred years! But it's you that's the quick mind."
Melky laid a finger to the side of his nose.
"Do you know what, Mrs. Goldmark?" he said. "I ain't going to let them police fellows put a hand on young Lauriston, not me! I've my own ideas about this here business—wait till I put my hand on somebody, see? Don't it all come out clear to you?—if I find the right man, then there ain't no more suspicion attaching to this young chap, ain't it? Oh, I'm no fool, Mrs. Goldmark; don't you make no mistake!"
"I'm sure!" asserted Mrs. Goldmark. "Yes, indeed—you don't carry your eyes in your head for nothing, Mr. Rubinstein!"
Zillah, who had listened abstractedly to these compliments suddenly turned on her cousin.
"What are you going to do then, Melky?" she demanded. "What's all this business about that book? And what steps are you thinking of taking?"
But Melky rose and, shaking his head, buttoned up his overcoat as if he were buttoning in a multitude of profound secrets.
"What you got to do, just now, Zillah—and Mrs. Goldmark too," he answered, "is to keep quiet tongues about what I done with young Lauriston. There ain't to be a word said! If any o' them police come round here, asking about him, you don't know nothing—see? You ain't seen him since he walked out o' that court with me—see? Which, of course—you ain't. And as for the rest, you leave that to yours truly!"
"Oh, what it is to have a mind!" exclaimed Mrs. Goldmark "I ain't no mind, beyond managing my business."
"Don't you show your mind in managing that?" said Melky, admiringly. "What do I always say of you, Mrs. Goldmark? Don't I always say you're the smartest business woman in all Paddington? Ain't that having a mind? Oh, I think you've the beautifullest mind, Mrs. Goldmark!"
With this compliment Melky left Mrs. Goldmark and Zillah, and went away to his lodgings. He was aware of a taxi-cab drawn up at Mrs. Flitwick's door as he went up the street; inside Mrs. Flitwick's shabby hall he found that good woman talking to a stranger—a well-dressed young gentleman, who was obviously asking questions. Mrs. Flitwick turned to Melky with an air of relief.
"Perhaps you can tell this gentleman where Mr. Lauriston is, Mr. Rubinstein?" she said. "I ain't seen him since he went out first thing this morning."
Melky looked the stranger over—narrowly. Then he silently beckoned him outside the house, and walked him out of earshot.
"You ain't the friend from Scotland?" asked Melky. "Him what sent the bank-note, last night?"
"Yes!" assented the stranger. "I see you're aware of that. My name is Purdie—John Purdie. Where is Lauriston? I particularly want to see him."
Melky tapped the side of his nose, and whispered.
"He's on his way to where you come from, mister!" he said. "Here!—I know who you are, and you'll know me in one minute. Come up to my sitting-room!"