The Sentence of the Court E-Book

Fred M. White

• Herausgeber: Fred M White
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2016

Beschreibung

Everard Gilray struggled to be free. What did this outrage mean? Who was this ragged, seedy fellow, who had thus dared to attack him on his own doorstep on the stroke of twelve? And this was not some slum in the East End—it was the respectable, dull, decorous Harley-street. Gilray had had slipped his Yale key in the front door, the polished mahogany portal stood open, showing the luxury and comfort and elegance of the hall in the dim, shaded electric light when this ragged nomad had emerged from the shadows and gripped him by the shoulder.
A beggar no doubt, some impudent fellow relying on the lateness of the hour and the stillness of the street to enforce a demand for alms.

Leseprobe

Fred M White

The Sentence of the Court

UUID: 184036a8-79b2-11e6-aa7b-0f7870795abd

This ebook was created with StreetLib Write (http://write.streetlib.com)by Simplicissimus Book Farm

Table of contents

CHAPTER I.—A MIDNIGHT MESSENGER

CHAPTER II.—THE WHITE HAND.

CHAPTER III.—THE SARD INTAGLIO.

CHAPTER IV.—THE THREE COSWAYS.

CHAPTER V.—A SECOND MINIATURE.

CHAPTER VI.—MADAME NINON DESTERRE.

CHAPTER VII.—A COMPACT.

CHAPTER VIII.—THE HIGH ROAD OF ADVENTURE.

CHAPTER IX.—ALONG THE ROAD.

CHAPTER X.—IN THE DARK.

CHAPTER XI.—A SOCIAL FUNCTION.

CHAPTER XII.—THE FORTUNE-TELLER.

CHAPTER XIII.—"STOP THIEF!"

CHAPTER XIV.—A MISSING LINK.

CHAPTER XV.—HARLEY ASKS A FAVOUR.

CHAPTER XVI.—A SPORTING CHANCE

CHAPTER XVII.—A GREAT INVENTION.

CHAPTER XVIII.—"THE SENTENCE OF THE COURT."

CHAPTER XIX.—AFTER THE VERDICT.

CHAPTER XX.—SMASH!

CHAPTER XXI.—THE GLASS DISC.

CHAPTER XXII.—A CHECK.

CHAPTER XXIII.—A GLIMPSE OF THE GEMS.

CHAPTER XXIV.—VOLUNTEER OR PRESSED MAN?

CHAPTER XXV.—THE DANGER ZONE.

CHAPTER XXVI.—THE FAMILY PICTURES.

CHAPTER XXVII.—HARD PRESSED.

CHAPTER XXVIII.—ENID SPEAKS OUT.

CHAPTER XXIX.—A GRAVE SUSPICION.

CHAPTER XXX.—THE FACE BEHIND THE GLASS.

CHAPTER XXXI.—ON THE VERGE.

CHAPTER XXXII.—AN EYE FOR AN EYE.

CHAPTER XXXIII.—PLAIN WORDS.

CHAPTER XXXIV.—THE FIRE.

CHAPTER XXXV.—IN THE GALLERY.

CHAPTER XXXVI.—THE SHAM AND THE REAL.

CHAPTER XXXVII.—A HALF-CONFESSION.

CHAPTER XXXVIII.—THE REAL MAN.

CHAPTER XXXIX.—LORD SHYLOCK.

CHAPTER XL.—THE REASON WHY.

CHAPTER I.—A MIDNIGHT MESSENGER

Everard Gilray struggled to be free. What did this outrage mean? Who was this ragged, seedy fellow, who had thus dared to attack him on his own doorstep on the stroke of twelve? And this was not some slum in the East End—it was the respectable, dull, decorous Harley-street. Gilray had had slipped his Yale key in the front door, the polished mahogany portal stood open, showing the luxury and comfort and elegance of the hall in the dim, shaded electric light when this ragged nomad had emerged from the shadows and gripped him by the shoulder.A beggar no doubt, some impudent fellow relying on the lateness of the hour and the stillness of the street to enforce a demand for alms.Gilray turned fiercely upon him, his left shot out, and the ruffian staggered under the force of the blow. The street outside was absolutely deserted, there was no sign of a policeman anywhere. And Gilray's house contained things of price. The servants had long gone to bed, it was impossible to alarm them.The man was evidently desperate, his courage was growing in proportion to the lack of danger. All this Gilray could read in his hungry, glittering eyes. This was the kind of thing that led to murder. Here, in Harley-street. Gilray wondered what people would say...his patients...constituents, his many friends in society. Possibly——He staggered back under a furious onslaught, and fell against a table in the hall. The shabby man followed quickly in, and shut the front door. He looked a little less dangerous and desperate now, but there was a grim smile on his face."Seems to have been a bit of a misunderstanding, sir," he gasped."You infernal scoundrel," Gilray cried. "What do you mean by it? If you had asked me civilly for assistance I would have helped you. But to attack me like this——""Who attacked you?" the man demanded sulkily. "I put my hand on your shoulder. I always put my hands on their shoulders, same as detectives do. 'Tis allowed by the law. 'Tis a symbol, that's what it is. Tells as 'ow you're my prisoner without using the word."Gilray gasped. A curious feeling of nausea oppressed him. He felt sick and giddy and curiously unreal, as if he were some unworthy person masquerading as himself. The man was quite calm and collected now, and, in his way, not disrespectful."I am your prisoner, then," he said, hoarsely."If you please, sir, Sheriff of London. What's called a Writ of Attachment. You see, as there is a Bill of Sale on your goods 'ere, there was no other way. Two hundred and thirty-eight pounds four shillings. You've got to come with me to Brixton Prison. Get the money from your friends to-morrow. Sorry to be so late, sir, but I missed you as you was going out to dinner. You got away in your taxi, only a few seconds in front of me."Gilray shuddered. He wondered if that pallid face in the Venetian mirror opposite was his own. That immaculately cut dress suit was a mockery. The pink-shaded hall, the thick Persian carpet, the pictures and the flowers were all a mockery. He was no longer Everard Gilray, the petted and fashionable eye specialist, a popular Member of Parliament, one of the idols of the hour. He was a hunted wretch with disgrace and worse before him. To-morrow he would be a byword, a failure, his specific services would be required no longer.He pointed a shaking finger in the direction of the dining-room, that wonderful room in crimson and old oak that was the admiration of all his lady patients. Gilray was a born collector, he never could resist the artistic and the beautiful—he never could resist anything that cost money. He made 10,000 pounds a year, and he was doubly that in debt.The more money he made the more hopeless grew his position. Betting, gambling, the Stock Exchange—every desperate remedy had been tried. And every venture found him nearer the brink. He was a humbug, a fraud—if nothing worse."Sit down," he said hoarsely, "sit down and help yourself. Brandy, whisky, a cigar—anything. I suppose you could not accept a cheque?""I could not, sir," the man said. "They never take cheques in these cases. Cash down and paid to the Sheriff. To-morrow——""Oh, curse it, man, there can be no to-morrow in my case," Gilray burst out passionately, "Can't you see that this means absolute ruin to me? Why, to-morrow I go to a palace to operate on Royalty. I shall not be there. Enquiries will be made the story will get abroad, and my practice will be dead. I represent a constituency in the north—a stern and rigid set who would turn and rend me if they knew to truth. Can't you see that I must have time, man? Go away and come back to-morrow night. I'll have the matter settled by then."The man with the glass in his hand shook his head resolutely. "Can't be done, governor," he said. "More'n my place is worth; I've got a missis and three kids, and one of 'em's a cripple. Not for all the money——"Just for an instant something like murder gleamed in Gilray's eyes. He seemed to be moving in a blood-red mist out of which loomed that man's lean and narrow throat. Why not kill him and pretend that he had found him here stealing the plate? No, that would not do. Inquiries would be made, and the whole story come out. The man must be bribed; there was money yonder in the oak secretaire. Gilray pulled open the desk and tossed aside a heap of papers. Bills, bills, bills! Threatening letters, money-lending circulars, pressing hints from solicitors. Curse the bills! Curse the money-lenders who were sucking the life's blood out of him!But they could keep; nothing mattered now as long as this fellow could be got rid of. He was there at the instance of the one creditor whom Gilray had least feared. That was always the way. Yes, here was the money almost thrown at him earlier in the day by a grateful American patient. Twenty pounds in gold and some notes. Gilray took the sovereigns, and laid them in a neat pattern on the polished oak table. They glittered and gleamed temptingly in the light."Look at them!" Gilray said hoarsely. "Just think what they mean to a man like you. They are a small fortune. And they are yours for the asking. Take them and put them in your pocket!"The man's fingers went mechanically in the direction of the good red gold. The dirty hands hovered over the shining coins; Gilray could hear the fellow's quick and strenuous breathing."Take 'em away!" he said. "Take 'em away, or I'll do you a mischief! What do you mean by temptin' a poor man in this way. It's cruel of you, sir.""But where is the harm?" Gilray pleaded hoarsely. "And how are you going to suffer? Nobody saw you come here, and nobody will see you go away. You have not been able to execute your warrant. Circumstances have been against you. To-morrow I am at the palace. I'm not going to run away, you know. If the money owing is not paid by mid-day, come back here and take me. Don't be a fool, man—don't stand in your own light."The sheriff's minion was hesitating now, his eyes twinkled and watered as if the gold dazzled them. Gilray snatched up the heavy, clinking coins, and thrust them in the other's hand."There!" he said. "I knew that you would think better of it. Did you ever have so much money before? Did you over make it so easily? And all for waiting a few hours. There is no danger to yourself, and you help me. Do you suppose that I don't mean to meet this liability? I've got to do it. If not, I might just as well jump into the Thames. Put the gold in your pocket."Gilray turned his back, knowing that he had won. He heard the muffled clink of the sovereigns as they dropped in the tipstaff's pocket. For the moment, at any rate, the situation was saved!Gilray was alone—the man had gone. He breathed more freely as he came back to the dining-room and helped himself liberally to brandy. This was not one of his usual habits, he was very rigid about that kind of thing. His was a popular figure at West End dining-tables, but he had never been known to exceed one glass of claret or hock. He was practically a non-smoker—one could not indulge in that kind of thing and retain the steady, steel-like hand necessary for the delicate eye operations. And tomorrow, for the first time, he was called upon to attend a Royal patient.And to-morrow he had to find that money. It was a mere trifle, and yet it was as big as a mountain. He had absolutely reached the end of his resources. There was not a money lender in London who would look at his paper, not a friend from whom he could borrow.He knew what a dainty, delicate plant was an operating surgeon's reputation. Here he was surrounded with every luxury in a house full of costly trifles, pictures, work of art, rare silver, and he could not touch a single object there. They were only nominally his—they belonged to a creditor under an assignment. To take one of those precious treasures and raise money on it would be fraud.Where was the money to come from? About two hundred and fifty pounds. A mere bagatelle. Gilray had spent that a score of times on a ring or cameo. And now——He came back with a start to the reality of things. The house became a human habitation again, and somebody was moving in the basement. There was now no light in the hall, and the thick curtains in the dining-room effectively screened the gleam of the electrics from the road outside. Doubtless some burglar was at work below there under the impression that everybody was asleep. Well, Gilray would know how to deal with him. He wanted something to vent his rage and passion upon. He had run up against a night of adventure, and he would see the trouble through.He crept to the door of the dining-room and waited. In the black, velvety darkness of the house he seemed to hear all the more clearly. Beyond question somebody was fumbling his way upstairs. It was possible to make out a soft footfall, the crack of a board, a sound of somebody breathing hard.There was a smell of humanity there too, humanity that sleeps out of doors and wears its clothes far too long. Gilray touched the switch.Just for a moment the blinding flood of light dazzled him. He made out a tall, spare figure in a shabby tightly-buttoned frock coat, once of fashionable cut, and with the evidence of the hand of Bond-street upon it.He saw a dark, clean-shaven face, a pair of keen, glittering eyes, glistening in a face that bore evidence of recent illness or privation. And in one of the long, lean, capable-looking hands was a Browning automatic pistol."What is the meaning of this?" Gilray demanded."We'll come to that presently," the stranger said.An educated man with the public school label on him, Gilray thought."No occasion for violence, Doctor Gilray. I rather fancy I can find you the money you are just now so sorely in need of."

CHAPTER II.—THE WHITE HAND.

Gilray stared wonderingly at the speaker. He could only wait for the other man to speak. It looked that night as if all the world had gone mad, as if law and order, and the sacred rights of property were no more. For this man was not shirking or abashed; there was no suggestion of an apology about him. On the contrary, his manner was coolly contemptuous, even superior; it was as if a magistrate were addressing a first offender.

He was a waster, of course, and a failure—even his cool and easy audacity could not conceal that. But he was undoubtedly a strong man, and Gilray did not fail to recognise the fact.

"How did you get here?" he stammered.

"Does it matter?" the other asked. "Let it suffice that I am here. Before long you will be glad I came. Permit me to introduce myself. Mr. Horace Vorley, whilom Doctor Vorley, very much at your service.

"You mean that you are not on the Medical Register now?"

"Precisely. You catch my meaning exactly. The old story of two men and one woman, and that woman happened to be my wife. I took matters in my own hands...Since then I have had a series of adventures in many lands, mostly taking the form of strife between myself on the one side and the authorities on the other. If you would give me a biscuit——"

"There are light refreshments in the dining-room," Gilray said, "and—and whisky."

"Thank you very much. I have eaten practically nothing to-day. I was searching for food in your kitchen. You see, I thought that Warner—the bailiff who was here just now—would have remained a little longer. When you left the front door open I followed you into the house. I also took the liberty of listening to your conversation with Warner. It looked like being a big struggle between you, so I stopped down in the kitchen. What did you give him to buy him off?"

Gilray exploded with impatient passion. How dared Vorley come here like this. What did he mean by treating the house as if it were some hotel? What business was it of his? Did he want the police to be telephoned for?

"Not a bit of good," Vorley coolly said, as he finished the sandwiches. "Upon my word, you have a pretty taste in whisky, sir. And these are really Villar Corona cigars. Let me ask you a question. Where are you going to get the money to pay that debt to-morrow? If it is not discharged by four o'clock the bailiff will be back again. At the present moment you have not one penny in the world. If the truth leaks out you are professionally ruined. Now, don't bluster, and don't lie about it. I was looking in here when you were discussing matters with Warner. Oh, if you could only have seen the white, anxious misery of your face; if you could only have heard the hoarse despair in your voice! You were pleading desperately for your social life. Man, do you want me to get you that money?"

Gilray laughed somewhat mirthlessly. He was beginning to like this blunt, outspoken man.

"That money! I'd give anything for it," he said. "Still, it is absurd to hear you talk of finding it! You are palpably penniless, seedy, desperate; and until a few moments ago, hungry. And you talk of finding me money! You find two hundred and fifty pounds! Ridiculous."

"Nevertheless, I can," Vorley said emphatically. "Before daybreak. That is, if you are prepared to perform a secret operation and to forget all about it afterwards."

"You came here to ask me to do this?"

"In a measure—yes. There is a man in whom I am deeply interested who has met with an accident to his eyes. He cannot for certain reasons show up in public, in fact he is hiding in a shady quarter near the river. No occasion to go into details. It's a queer business altogether. But this man needs the very highest skill, and I came West to-night to get it for him. My idea was to call on Evershed—he's a good chap, and we were pals at one time. I was hanging about on his doorstep making up my mind. Then I saw Warner stop you, and my way was clear."

"Warner is an old acquaintance of yours, I presume," Gilray sneered.

"Once more you show your quickness and intelligence," Vorley said urbanely. "When I was going headlong to perdition, Warner was a frequent guest in my house. We were good friends. So when I saw him to-night fighting with you on your doorstep I saw my way. Here was the fashionable and popular Dr. Gilray being arrested on a writ of attachment! You see, I know all the jargon. What a revelation! People don't let things go so far as writs of attachment unless they are in desperate need of money. My chance lay plain before me, and I took it in both hands. Now, do you need that money?"

"I would give my soul for it," Gilray said hoarsely. "If you can prove to me that you——"

"Man, you must take my word for it. And you must ask no questions. I cannot get a shilling for myself, but I can get you three hundred guineas for the secret operation. The man who handles the cash is a miser of the worst possible type. But the operation means much to him. I told him what I proposed to do, and he scoffed at the suggestion. No surgeon of good repute, he held, would come at dead of night to one of London's deadliest slums and perform such an operation as that required."

"But the patient might come here?"

"The patient is ill, he has had a bad accident. And there are other reasons why the thing should be carried out with every precaution. The danger of it——"

"Oh, there is danger, then? I see I am going to earn my money."

"Glad to hear that you have made up your mind," Vorley said, smiling for the first time. "'My poverty, and not my will consents,' as Shakespeare's Apothecary said. As a matter of fact, everything that I could see to is ready for you. You will need an anaesthetist, and you could not have a better one than myself. All the needful appliances are on the spot. So come along."

Gilray hesitated no longer. The hand of Fate was clearly directing the thing, fortune for once in a way was fighting on his side. The difficulty that had been before him threatening his ruin was solved—he would be able to keep faith with Warner.

"Very well," he said. "I will trust to your word. The money will be paid to me——"

"In gold, if you like, as soon as the operation is over. But we are wasting time here. Come on."

Gilray, after that, waited only to get his necessary instruments together, and presently he and Vorley were walking eastward together. A passing taxi was hailed by Vorley, and an address given that was somewhere at the back of the Tower of London. They were in a maze of mean streets presently, dark and narrow thoroughfares, dirty and ill-smelling, with dim lights gleaming here and there behind faded curtains. A few gas lamps struggled fitfully against the pervading gloom. Even these ineffectual gleams were lost presently, for, dismissing the taxi, Vorley turned through a broken-down gateway that seemed to give on to some open space, evidently a disused wharf or shipbreaker's yard, littered with refuse, amongst which Gilray stumbled along painfully, sweating, and uncertain on his feet. He could faintly catch the glimmer and hear the drip of water somewhere as he groped his way blindly in the dark.

"Where are you leading me?" he asked hoarsely.

"Take my hand," Vorley whispered. "I know every inch of the way. This is a treacherous place at night. A false step to the right or left and you are over the edge, and into one or the disused old locks. At one time a prosperous trade in the building of ships was carried on here, now the place is deserted and derelict. We are just about to cross the sluice-plank over one of the waterways. Be careful, man, be careful! Put your hand on my shoulder and shuffle your feet along."

Gilray with a shudder compiled. He was suffering all the tortures of a vivid imagination. He would have given five years of his life to be back in his own house again. But there was no turning back now, and the vision of the rich reward to come spurred him on.

They were on firmer ground presently with something that looked like the outline of a house ahead. It seemed to be a fair-sized building, but there were no lights anywhere and the place was all in darkness. At this point Vorley paused and struck a match which he concealed as far as possible in the hollow of his hand. The fitful light disclosed what appeared to be a kind of basement to the house, with a door to which a flight of steps gave access. A sudden puff of wind and out went the match. Vorley swore under his breath.

But Gilray was no longer attending to the movements of his guide. He stood almost transfixed to the spot, all his fear gone, listening and wondering. For in the house away back in the darkness a girl was staging the 'Jewel Song,' from 'Faust.' The voice was glorious, divine. Its free abandon, its exquisite quality and purity of tone amazed Gilray. Here, wasting the silver of her notes, was assuredly some great star of Opera.

"Come on," Vorley whispered, noting his companion's amazement. "I'll show you queerer things than that yet. Now, get inside and wait till I come for you. The basement is dark and damp, but you can sit there for a moment. As to myself, I shall have to enter the house another way."

Gilray followed with blind obedience. He was thrust without ceremony into a dark room, and the door was locked behind him. Then, as Vorley's footsteps died away it seemed to him that he was neglected and deserted in a world of darkness and desolation. He heard something squeak and scurry, he felt something warm move over his foot. Gilray shuddered and his hair stiffened as he recognised the fact that the place was full of rats. He could hear them scrambling up the damp walls, and high above all he could hear the owner of that divine voice singing the passionate music as if her soul were in it.

Well, here was a link with the better side of humanity at any rate. So long as that glorious music continued Gilray could take heart of grace. He strained his ears, he heard the liquid notes break off suddenly and a woman's voice screaming in deadly fear. The screams went on for a moment or two, then ceased with a gurgling cry. It was as if a hand had been placed on the throat of a nightingale to stop its melody.

Every individual hair seemed to stand up straight on Gilray's head. He could hear the heavy tread of feet above him as if several persons were engaged in a deadly struggle, he could hear muffled curses and something that might have been the crack of a revolver.

Evidently he had been forgotten, murder was being done upstairs, and whatever the danger, he must not be found there. He fumbled for the door, only to find it fast locked, so he groped for some other outlet. As he did so there was a heavy fall in the room above, and after that silence like that of the grave. It was so silent that Gilray fancied he could hear the blood pulsing through his brain.

Something snapped, and a gleam of light darted like a lance across the floor and flooded the dark brick floor of the cellar-like room. A huddle of rats scampered away into the shadows. A trapdoor opened and a hand and arm appeared through the opening—a slim, white, velvet-skinned arm and hand traced with delicate blue veins a hand that had known no labour, daintily manicured, pink as to the polished nails, a hand moreover blazing with a glittering of antique diamond rings.

"Lord," Gilray gasped "Lord, I'd give my reputation and my good name to be well out of this!"

CHAPTER III.—THE SARD INTAGLIO.

Gilray moved back as if that long, slim hand was some fearful thing fraught with peril. Yet he was strangely fascinated by it, it aroused all his artistic sense and love of the beautiful. Nor was he blind to the value of those beautiful old rings that decked it with their glittering brilliants. It seemed to him that he had seen one of them before in a famous collection of jewels. Surely the one with the panel of stones had been part of the D'Alencus treasures.

Gilray could have sworn that he had once had it in his hand for inspection; that it was something he at one time had been half disposed to buy. Sweating and trembling as he was from hand to foot, he could not keep these thoughts out of his mind.

The slim, white arm advanced, the slender fingers, with the nails of pearl were almost on his foot, the waving light made circles of flame in the shadows, he could see the gleaming eyes of the terrified rats. He could see, too, the dark slime on the floor. Then the trap-door opened wider, and there was a sudden crash. Something was going to happen now.

But there was nothing to be desperately afraid of, after all. A big slice of the wall seemed to fall away, and behind the light of an electric torch Gilray could discern the outline of a slender figure. There was about it something pathetic and appealing—something that seemed to bring back Gilray's manhood again. He could not but see that the girl was in some trouble, and the idea flashed across him that her trouble had arisen because she had gone out of her way to assist him. She was gathering courage now. "You—you are Dr. Gilray?" she whispered.

Gilray replied hoarsely that he was. He wished that he could see his companion a little more plainly. As if in answer to his desire, the girl placed the torch on a ledge above her head, and stood out in the gleaming rays of it. And then, just for a moment, Gilray forgot his fear, forgot all his troubles and misfortunes, in the contemplation of that perfect face.

He was conscious of the exquisite chiselling of her features, the creamy ivory tint of her skin, and the clear lucent ruby of the pathetic lips. He saw the glint of gold and amber in the piled up masses of her hair, the violet grey eyes all heavy with unshed tears.

The girl was in trouble beyond all doubt, but the lines of sorrow on her face only added to her beauty, She was wrapped from head to foot in some soft clinging black drapery, but a wisp of fine old lace rippled about the white column of her throat, and another filmy wave was visible above her tiny ankles. Gilray's artistic eye apprised the value of the gossamer lace and the lovely old paste buckles on her shoes. Here was a mean, rat-haunted house in a mean and noisome neighbourhood allied with the beautiful and the costly in the strangest possible fashion, and Gilray would have given a good deal to know the meaning of it all.

"I came for you," the girl, explained. "I am sorry that you should have been left here so long."

She spoke as he had expected, in a voice low, sweet, and refined, yet just a little haughty. There was, too, a faint suggestion of hauteur about the face and in the carriage of the dainty head.

"It is nothing," Gilray hastened to explain. "I came here professionally, you understand. I knew it was an unconventional visit, so I was prepared to find an unconventional reception."

"So I understood. Will you come this way, please?"

"Might I not ask," Gilray stammered, "would it not be just as well for me to know where I am and the name of the people here? For instance; you are——"

The girl's face grew cold and hard.

"Does it in the least matter?" she asked. "I believe that the situation was made quite plain to you. It really was good of you to come, and Dr. Vorley is grateful. But as we are never likely to meet again my name can be nothing to you."

Gilray stammered some kind of apology. But he would have been something more than human not to have expressed some curiosity anent the situation in which he found himself. Beautiful women, were no strangers to him; he had seen beauty day by day in the most perfect, the most exquisite settings. But never before had he met a woman who moved him as this one did. He would have to marry some day, of course, he had always told himself that. Moreover, it was imperatively necessary that he should marry money. He could not forget the latter fact even in the midst of his surprises. Perhaps the girl was a heiress in her way, despite her sordid surroundings. Were there not those rings, that priceless lace, the old paste buckles to be accounted for?

"I am very sorry," he stammered. "You see, I sometimes have patients who wish to remain anonymous. I always decline to advise them. I had forgotten that to-night's business was exceptional. Is it not time that I saw my possible patient?"

The girl murmured that she had come to bring him to the patient, and without further ado led the way up a flight of steps into a corridor the walls of which were dark with age and grime. The floor apparently had not been scrubbed for years, yet here and there were scattered Persian prayer rugs that would attract admiration in Regent or Bond street. A picture or two, panels in oils, whose value could be seen at a glance, hung carelessly and crookedly on the dingy walls. Gilray took in all this with amazement, feeling more and more bewildered as he walked along. Presently he and his guide reached a square hall in which glowed a solitary electric lamp. It was strange to find electricity installed in so remote and sordid a house as this. Yet the hall was large and lofty, and had apparently at one time been richly decorated, for along the cornice Gilray could see peeling flakes of tarnished gold, and on the ceiling the faint remains of an allegorical painting. He remembered now what Vorley had said as to the time when this fragrant district had boasted fields and fair houses, houses wherein more than one chapter of past history had been made.

Down a flight of oaken stairs, rich with carved rails and balusters, Vorley came noiselessly. His coat was torn, his face was dirty, and one eye was partially closed. He had a bloodstained handkerchief across his forehead. It was then that Gilray, looking about him, noticed evidence of a struggle. A table and a couple of chairs had been overturned, and on the bare floor was a horribly suggestive dim red patch. With a shudder he remembered the din and confusion he had heard above him while imprisoned in the hideous darkness of the basement vault.

"Sorry to keep you so long waiting," Vorley said. "Did you hear anything?"

"It certainly seemed to me at one time as if some disturbance was going on. I also heard somebody singing most divinely. Probably I have to thank the young lady here for——"

"You are quite mistaken," the girl said coldly. "Are you not wasting time?"

She bowed and vanished into one of the unlighted rooms leading from the hall. As she closed the door behind her Gilray heard the click of a switch.

"What an exquisite creature!" he remarked involuntarily.

"Pretty girl, isn't she?" Vorley said carelessly. "You didn't get much out of her, I expect. Did she by any chance tell you her name?"

"She did not. She promptly checked all curiosity on the point."

"Umph, I thought so! As you will never see her again, probably it doesn't matter. We had a little bit of a scrimmage here, as you heard. It's a queer household, Lord knows how queer. But we're not poor, we can afford to pay for our little fancies. Still, come this way—your patient is upstairs. And a nice handful he is."

In one of the bare oak-beamed upper rooms the patient lay upon a plain iron bedstead. Vorley had rigged up an apology for an operating table, and by an ingenious arrangement of incandescent lamps and reflectors a powerful light was thrown directly upon it. Here, too, were all the necessary appliances for the administration of an anaesthetic, and it needed no second glance to see that Vorley had made no false boast when he claimed to understand this side of the business.

On the bed lay a big, heavy man, with luxuriant beard and whiskers. Between his frequent groans he was cursing in some language that sounded like German. A silk handkerchief was tied across his eyes. It was a queer pattern, in which orange spots predominated, and the design impressed itself upon Gilray's memory.

"It's all right, old man," Vorley said cheerfully to the man on the bed. "The oculist is here. No need to mention names, no need to do so on either side for that matter, but I've got the best that Harley-street can produce. Let's get that bandage off and see what really is the matter."

The bearded man muttered something that might have been gratitude. As Gilray removed the bandage he saw that the face was all raw and bleeding. Here and there were tiny punctures with raised edges, and the whole appearance went to show that the man had been wounded at long range by a charge of small shot. Both eyelids were granulated and suppurating and the inflammation was intense, making it plain that the sufferer was then quite blind, even if his sight was not lost for ever.

"Get him on the table and give him a whiff of ether," Gilray commanded.

With some trouble this was accomplished, and at last the patient lay inert and unconscious, ready for the operator. Directly Gilray had his instrument in his hands everything else was forgotten. He was no longer a stranger in a house of fear, he was the born genius with science on his side fighting for a man's sight. For an hour or more with his marvellously delicate touch he worked at the injured eyes, the grim rigidity of his face slowly relaxing as he moved on inch by inch towards victory.

He tossed the last bit of sponge aside, and wiped his face. Vorley was gazing at him with undisguised anxiety.

"Well?" he asked. "Are you satisfied?"

"Quite," Gilray said. "It was a very near thing, but I've managed it. The man has escaped total blindness by a sheer miracle. But he will get right again. All that's needed now is scrupulous care. A good, non-irritating antiseptic for washing purposes must be applied frequently and the eyes rebandaged closely after every application. Keep this going for a week, and then let the patient have light gradually; follow my directions carefully, and you'll not need me any more. And now we had better be going."

"Isn't there something to be done first?" Vorley asked.

"So far as I am concerned, nothing except the fee. I think you suggested that I could have this in cash, if necessary. A cheque in the circumstances might be difficult to negotiate. If the money is handy——"

Vorley chuckled, as if amused.

"Oh, you can have the hard gold if you prefer it," he said. "You will have to see the old man. Never mind what his name is. He's waiting for you in the room at the end of the corridor downstairs. Walk in, assure him of the success of the operation, and the money is yours. I'll wait for you and see you part of the way home."

Gilray followed the directions. He knocked at the door but no reply came, so he walked in and looked about him. He saw a desk with a swinging light over it, a desk piled high with gold, hundreds and hundreds of sovereigns, and stacks of bank notes. Behind the desk was a huge fire-proof safe full of books and papers that looked like securities.

Gilray fairly gasped at the evidence of all this wealth; he was gasping still as a door on the far side opened, and an old man came in. With a snarling cry of anger he banged down the top of his desk and turned to the intruder with raised hand. On the finger of the hand Gilray could see a Sard Intaglio, magnificent, and priceless.

"Who are you, and what do you want here?" the old man demanded. "Speak, or I'll—I'll kill you."

CHAPTER IV.—THE THREE COSWAYS.

Gilray shrugged his shoulders almost indifferently. He was getting accustomed to these dramatic episodes. Besides, he had nothing to be afraid of. Let him only get his money and he would not trouble this amazing household again. All the same, there was something exceedingly striking about this remarkable old man. He might have come straight from a stage setting, so strange was his aspect.

He was 'Gaspard' and 'Shylock' in one—tall and lean, and high of forehead from which the leonine grey hair was tossed carelessly back; he had thin, dark, hatchet-like features, and eyes that glowed like stars behind his gold-rimmed glasses. His keen, clever face was lined and wrinkled, his skin the colour of old parchment. To strengthen the likeness to the classical example of miserliness, he wore a kind of dressing-gown of velvet, and on his head was a skull-cap of the same material.

Surely he must be part and parcel of some stage production, Gilray thought. The room was almost the exact counterpart of the scene where Gaspard gloats over his treasures. The walls were almost bare, the carpet was thick with dust, there was a table and two kitchen chairs beside the great desk that stood under one of the windows. But the walls were not quite bare, for here and there a picture had been hung, and on the far side was a genuine Commonwealth chair or two. That the pictures were things of price Gilray knew at a glance—there were very few frequenters of Christies' rooms who were better judges than he.

"What are you doing here?" the old man asked again. "Who are you, and what do you want? How did you get into the house? And who let you in? And how much?"

"Three hundred pounds in gold."

"Too much. Far too much. My good man, where am I to get it from? I am poor, miserably, hopelessly poor. The fools outside think I'm rich. They grumble when I ask for my interest, they treat me violently. You know that I am poor."

He asked the question in a voice that was almost pleading. His keen eyes seemed to flicker over Gilray's face. There was a cunning here nearly allied to madness. Beyond question this old man was enormously rich. He was a miser, the garnering of gold was a mania with him. Obviously the type of madman to be humoured.

"There is some mistake," Gilray said. "I am an oculist. I practise in Hurley-street. The name of Gilray may be known to you. I came here to-night with Dr. Vorley to see a patient. I was," he said, "to have a fee of three hundred guineas——"

"Pounds curse him," the old man snarled. "He has no consideration for my poverty. And three hundred pounds is a deal of money. I am a poor old man, sir, a miserable old man——"

"I do not doubt it for a moment," Gilray said, curtly. "That is not the point. I came here on a distinct understanding, and I have done my work. I may say without boasting that I have been perfectly successful. Dr. Vorley sent me here to get my fee. Where is it?"

The old man's eye blazed dangerously. He shook with the passion that possessed him.

"Have a care, have a care," he said hoarsely. "I know you, Dr. Gilray. Bills, bills, and yet more bills. Papers in the hands of the Jews renewed over and over again. Betting and gambling. Cigars at six pounds the hundred, and champagne at a guinea a bottle. And yet representing one of the most Puritan consequencies in England. Pah! I could ruin you to-morrow."

"Still, I have earned my money," Gilray protested.

"True, true! I take your word for it. You have done a great service, and you shall have your money. But it's a great wrench, a very great wrench."

The old man raised the flap of his desk as if there were something inside it struggling to escape from him and groped for a wash-leather bag. With a longing look, the look of a mother saying farewell to a child, he handed the round leather bag heavy with gold to Gilray.

"You will find the contents quite correct," he said. "If you like to count them——"

With a wave of his hand Gilray dropped the bag into his pocket. The old man chuckled. Then he frowned as he saw Gilray looking intently at a triangular object on the table.

It was a frame in gold and rubies in three panels, each panel containing a miniature portrait of some beautiful woman. There was no need for Gilray to ask whose work it was—the softness, the velvety smoothness and exquisite colouring proclaimed the artist to the connoisseur.

"You are interested in these pretty toys?" the old man asked carelessly.

"I cannot resist them," Gilray admitted, "It is one of my vices. And Cosway's work specially appeals to me. May I look at these?"

The old man gave a grudging consent. He might be a moneylender or a pawnbroker, as probably he was, but he loved these things for their own sake.

"Gon on," he said. "Examine what you like and keep your silence after. Those are not my things. They come to me in the way of business. They are security for borrowed money. Not my money, please understand, but the money of the capitalist who employs me. For I have nothing."

"And you are not afraid of keeping things here? Burglars?"

The old man chuckled again.

'"No burglars could come here," he said. "They know better than put their wits against those of Daniel Harley——"

Gilray made a mental note of the name.

"Because I am ready for them. Not that they know or guess. But my electrical alarms are perfect—the man who tries to get in here is held a prisoner till the police come. Geoffrey Herepath worked it all out for me. A young man, that, who will be a Kelvin some of these days. You know him—you are on a commission before which he gave evidence the other day. He knows that which before long will revolutionise the traffic of the world. You see, I read the papers, I keep myself abreast of the times."

But Gilray was barely listening. He knew Herepath by name, of course; they had met more than once lately, and there was no great love lost between them. Still, Herepath was a long way from Gilray's thoughts just now. He was engrossed upon these exquisite miniatures.

"The three Miss Hessingdales, are they not?" he asked.

The old man's brow clouded; he was growing hard and suspicious again.

"You know too much," he said. "Let me show you something now not quite so famous."

Daniel Harley laid his hand on the bell, and the door opened to admit the girl whom Gilray had seen earlier in the evening. She had discarded the black wrap now, she stood there all in white. Her grace and beauty seemed strangely out of place in that bare, desolate room, her fair face flushed as she saw that the old man was not alone.

"My second keys," he said. "Oh, they are here by my side all the time. My dear, this is Dr. Gilray. My daughter Enid, sir."

The girl flashed an imploring glance at Gilray. He rightly interpreted the look to mean that he was to meet her as a stranger. He bowed as he took the slender pink fingers in his, he thrilled at the contact of her warm flesh. The man was touched as he had never been touched before, moved to his soul. A wife like that, to call that exquisite creature his own! The rich wife that was a necessity to him. And to love her as well, to have his arm around that slender waist, to feel his lips pressed to that little scarlet mouth! His senses reeled as he thought of it. And there was nobody in the way, no rival in the field.

He was still pondering the matter after Harley had dismissed him with no suggestion that he should come there again. Still, he had a good excuse, he could almost demand a further inspection of the man upon whom he had just operated. Side by side with Vorley he walked the silent streets till the Tower Bridge was passed. Here Vorley paused, and called for a taxi from the rank.

"We had better part here," he said. "Goodbye, and many thanks."

"I might have to see my patient again," Gilray suggested.

"I think not," said Vorley drily. "Put him out of your mind. You said there would be no further occasion for you to come again. Oh, yes, Miss Harley is a lovely girl, and no lover comes her way, but all the same, keep your hands from the fire, or you will get burnt. Good-night."

Vorley turned on his heel and departed without another word.

Gilray, as he lounged back in the taxi, smiled to himself. He would be able to find his way back to that house of mystery with but little trouble, he told himself. He would first make a few inquiries, and quite satisfy himself as to the girl's prospects. But for his own folly and prodigal life, he would not have needed to have given money a thought. Had all been well with him, he would gladly have taken Enid without a penny.

He was thinking of the girl and her exquisite beauty as he got into bed; she disturbed his dreams throughout a restless night. Still, now that he had the money to meet that pressing claim, he could wholeheartedly give his attention to his morning's work until the stress was over and luncheon came. With that meal he picked up his 'Daily Messenger,' and tried to forget his professional labours. Then his knife and fork clattered on his plate as his eye met a paragraph that caused his heart to beat rapidly——

"Robbery in Park Lane. Van der Knoot treasures missing. A mysterious robbery took place last night in Park-lane, at the residence of Mr. Isidore Van der Knoot, the famous collector and dealer. It appears that the family were away from home, the servants are at the house in Scotland, and the premises are in charge of a trusted caretaker, who has been in Mr. Van der Knoot's employ for years.

"Just as it was getting dark, Walker, the caretaker, noticed a suspicious noise in the front drawing-room. On his going to see the cause he was attacked by a strange man, and a desperate struggle took place. Walker defended himself with a pistol charged with shot, and avows that he left his mark on the thief. He was overpowered, and rendered insensible, and when he came to himself found that nothing was missing save a three-panelled frame containing Cosway miniatures, presumably the portraits of the famous Misses Hessingdale.

"Probably the intruder, fearing the pistol shot would cause a general alarm, decamped without attempting to remove any of the numerous other treasures in the apartment. So far there is no clue to the thief, for the attack he made when disturbed was so fierce and sudden that Walker declares his utter inability to give any description of his assailant. The police, however, have the matter in hand, and are using every endeavour to trace the daring thief."

Gilray threw the paper on one side, and paced up and down the room. There was no doubt in his mind as to what had become of the missing Cosways. He had had them in his hand not many hours before. They had been stolen, and old Daniel Harley must have known it. But if so, why had he paraded the treasures in such an open fashion? He must have known that he was running a risk, under the eyes of a total stranger. Was the man he had attended, the thief? Was the picturesque old miser, Daniel Harley, a mere vulgar receiver? And did that exquisite girl with the face that recalled the pure features of a Madonna know?

Bah! The suggestion was ridiculous, incredible, impossible of belief. There must be some proper common-sense explanation of the mystery. There might be some——

Gilray's reflections were suddenly broken by the opening of the room door and the entrance of his neat and quiet body servant.

"You are wanted on the telephone, sir," said the man. "Mr. Geoffrey Herepath would like to speak to you. A matter that admits of no delay, sir."

CHAPTER V.—A SECOND MINIATURE.

Gilray nodded and walked as far as the inner consulting-room, where the telephone was placed. He was vaguely asking himself who this Herepath was who wished to speak to him so urgently. The name was oddly familiar, and yet for the moment he could not recall where he had heard it. It seemed in some way to be directly concerned with the stirring events of the past few hours. But then there had been so much to think about and, in any case, what did it really matter? Probably Herepath was no more than a casual patient who would see him to-day and would be gone to-morrow. There were hundreds of such, each regarding his or her own particular case as being of the first importance. And yet Gilray was annoyed because for the moment he could not place the name.