He sprang from his chair and without thinking how terribly compromising his action was for the lady, he sat down next to her. She was intently watching the raindrops and didn’t turn her head.

  “Mrs. Diss,” he said.

  She looked around, recognized him and gave a little cry of surprise.

  “Great heavens! Is that you?”

  “Yes, here I am and so are you.”

  “Why here? I dare say that my presence in this place surprises you,” she said. “You must think I have a short memory and no feelings of loyalty.”

  Frank didn’t reply, but his non-reply was a sufficient answer to her rhetorical question.

  “You do me wrong,” whispered the lady, in earnest. “I’m here, because Mr. Poiret told me that it was in your interest that I ought to pardon Carl Esprey and meet with him again as I used to do. So you see, doctor, that it’s never safe to judge by appearances only and a woman less than anything else.”

  “Oh, Good God, will you forgive me?” asked Frank, blushing.

  The lady interrupted him by giving him a little wave of her hand, which was invisible to all save to him. It clearly said, “Be careful. We are not alone.”

  She once more turned her eyes towards the street and he did the same. Their faces were now hidden from observation.

  “Mr. Poiret,” the lady said, “has heard a lot about young St. Ives and as you can guess, it was little to his credit and more than enough to understand why Count Bletchley would refuse him his sister’s hand. In this case, however, it’s clear that Bletchley is forced to hand over his sister to this villain because of some secret pressure.”

  Frank sighed.

  “Don’t lose hope,” she continued. “Mr. Poiret is of the opinion that we must ferret out some hidden crime in Jason St. Ives’s own past, with which we can force him to withdraw his proposal.”

  “I will find one, no matter how deeply hidden,” mumbled the doctor.

  “Remember, there is no time to lose. I will engage him in the most charming attitude possible and allow him to think that I’m entirely devoted to his interests and suggest to him that I can help him arrange a meeting between him and the count and countess at their house.”

  “So soon?” asked Frank, startling.

  “Yes,” continued Mrs. Diss, “because you were quite right in what you told us before. The common danger has reconciled the count and the countess and after years of coldness, they seem more affectionate to each other. They used to always live in the unhappiest of modes. This was well known. Now their faces are full of anxiety and they watch every movement Cora makes with fright in their eyes. I think that the count looks at her as a means to be safe, but shudders at the sacrifice she’s making on his account.”

  “And Cora?”

  “She’s been lied to. She’s ready to sacrifice herself for her brother’s sake without a word of protest. Her self-sacrificing devotion to her brother is perfectly admirable and what’s more admirable still is the way in which she hides her suffering. She is a true aristocrat. She appears calm and silent, as she has always been, but she has also grown thinner and perhaps a trifle paler. Her cheeks seemed to be burning and seemed to scorch my lips as I kissed her. With this exception there was nothing about her that would betray her private tortures. Nelly, her maid, told me that, at night she seemed completely worn out and the poor woman, said with tears in her eyes, that her dear mistress was killing herself.”

  Frank’s eyes overflowed with tears.

  “What have I done to deserve so much love?” he asked.

  A door suddenly opened and the doctor and the lady turned hastily at the sound. It was Carl Esprey, who came in, saying in a loud, arrogant voice, according to his usual custom, “Whose turn is it next?”

  He saw Ralph. His face became white, but it was with a smile that he stepped towards him, waving away the young lady, whose turn it was and who protested loudly against the injustice.

  “Ah, Mr. Greenstreet,” he said, “you have come, I suppose, to buy some diamonds for that exquisite lady of yours, Mrs. Delaford?”

  “No, not today,” Ralph replied. “Mrs. Delaford is a little indisposed.”

  Frank, who had already thought of the narrative, which he was about to pour in the ears of the notorious Carl Esprey, was in too much haste to permit any unnecessary niceties.

  “We have come here,” he said quickly, “on a matter of some importance. My friend, Mr. Ralph Greenstreet, is about to leave London for a few months and before doing so, is anxious to settle all outstanding accounts and retire all his debts.”

  “Do I own any outstanding bills of Mr. Greenstreet?” asked Carl Esprey slowly. “Ah, yes, I remember that I did have some. Yes, now I remember, five debt notes of one thousand shilling each, drawn by Mr. Greenstreet and endorsed by Mr. Jeff Lett. I acquired them from the London Loan Bank, but they are no longer in my hands.”

  “Oh, no!” murmured Ralph, growing sick with apprehension.

  “Yes, I sent them to my supplier, De Beers and Company.”

  Carl Esprey was a clever scoundrel, but he also knew how to cover his actions against any police investigation. If Ralph Greenstreet was a fool, the man with him looked like a more worthy opponent and seemed in his ways to exude the attitude of a man of law, be it an investigator or a solicitor. Becoming agitated by the steady gaze that the doctor kept on him, he added, “If you don’t believe my word, I can show you the receipt that I received from that firm.”

  “It’s unnecessary,” replied Frank. “Your verbal statement is sufficient for our purpose.”

  “Uh,” continued Esprey, “I should prefer to let you see the letter.”

  “No, thank you,” replied Frank. He was not even for a moment duped by the game that the other man was playing. “Please, take no more trouble. The notes must be with De Beers. There is no use in taking any more trouble in regards to them. We will wait until they come due. I wish you a good morning.”

  And with these words he dragged Ralph out of the hotel. When they turned the corner Frank stopped and wrote down the name of Carl Esprey’s supplier. Ralph now looked quite pleased with himself.

  “I think,” he said, “that Mr. Esprey is a sharp fellow. He knows that I am good for the money. Did you hear him ask me if I wished to buy more diamonds?”

  “But where do you think your debt notes are?”

  “At De Beers and Company, of course.”

  The perfect innocence of the young man elicited from the doctor a cynical smile.

  “Listen to me,” he said, “and see if you can understand the dangerous position you placed yourself in.”

  “I’m listening, my dear fellow. Pray continue.”

  “You borrowed the money from James Wexler, because Carl Esprey wouldn’t give you credit.”

  “Exactly so, sir.”

  “How, then, do you account for the fact that this man, who was at first not inclined to trust your credit, is now, without rhyme or reason, offering to sell you more diamonds?”

  “Hell’s bells! That never occurred to me. It does seem rather strange. Is he making a mockery out of me? But, who, James Wexler or Carl Esprey?”

  “I think it’s plain to see that the both of them have entered into a pleasant little plot to blackmail you.”

  Young Greenstreet didn’t at all like this turn of events and he cried out, “Blackmail me? I say! Why, I ought to…! I know my way around life better than that. They won’t get much out of me, I can tell you that much.”

  Frank shrugged his shoulders.

  “Well then,” he said, “just tell me what you intend to say to our friendly banker James Wexler, when he comes to you on the day your bills fall due and says to you, “Give me one hundred thousand shilling for these five sheets of paper or I will go straight to your father with them?”

  “I will tell him, of course… Ah, well, I really don’t know what I would say.”

  “There is nothing you could say, except that you don’t have the money and beg him for time and James Wexler would give it to you, if you signed a few more contracts insuring him that the one hundred thousand shilling will be paid, when your father meets his end.”

  “To hell with him! A hundred thousand strikes are all that rogue will get from me. That’s the way I do things, don’t you see? If people try and steal from me, I will hit out and then just look out for broken bones. Pay this chap a hundred thousand shilling? Not I! I know the old man would make an almighty drama out of it, when he hears about it, but that sooner than be had like that.”

  He was serious, but could only put his angry feelings in the language he usually spoke.

  “I think,” answered the doctor, “that your father would forgive this folly, but that it will be even harder for him to do so than the Mrs. Delaford issue. He will forgive you, because he’s your father and because he loves you. But that won’t stop James Wexler. When he finds out that the threat to go to your father does not bring you to your knees, he will threaten to go to the police.”

  “Hullo!” said Greenstreet, stopping short. “I say, that is poor taste.”

  “There is no taste in it, because such taste, when brought to the attention of the police, goes by the ugly name of forgery and forgery means a prison sentence.”

  Ralph turned pale and shook from head to toe.

  “Prison sentence?” he stammered. “I don’t believe you, but I hold no aces, so I will show my cards.”

  He had forgotten that he was in a public street and that he was talking at the top of his shrill falsetto voice and gesticulating theatrically.

  “My poor old father! I could have made him so happy, but after all, I’ve only been a torment to him. Ah, I wish I could begin at the beginning. But, the cards are dealt and I must go on with the game I’m in. I’ve made quite a muddle of the whole thing and I have hardly passed my twentieth birthday. Let me tell you one thing, though. There will be no criminal courts for me, no. The easiest way out of this is a pistol shot, because no matter what I am, I am an honest man’s son and I will not bring disrepute on my father.”

  “Are you serious?” asked Frank Defoe.

  “Of course I am. I can be quite firm, when required.”

  “Then we will not despair yet,” answered the young doctor. “I think that we will be able to clear up this ugly business, but you must be careful. Keep indoors and remember that I may need your help to resolve this issue.”

  “I will do anything, but Mrs. Delaford must stay in the picture.”

  “Don’t fret over that. I will call on her tomorrow. As for now, farewell.” With these words Frank hurried off.

  Frank Defoe’s reason for leaving the young man to himself was the few words he had heard James Wexler utter to Baron St. Ives. He had said, “I will see Joseph Kennan at four o’clock.” He had decided to wait outside the banker’s office and follow him, when he came out and so find out who this mysterious Joseph Kennan was, who apparently was also mixed up in the plot. He walked down the streets like an arrow from a bow and as the clock in a neighboring church chimed half-past three, he arrived in front of the bank. There was a small pub across the street from the London Loan Bank and there the doctor sat by the window. He remembered he hadn’t eaten all day and ordered a shepherd’s pie. Just as he had finished his meal and glass of beer he saw the banker come out of the office. He stood up, paid his bill and cautiously followed after him like an assassin on the trail of his enemy.

  James Wexler walked down the street with the air of a successful man, a rich man, in short a director of a highly lucrative company. The doctor had no difficulty in following the man, though the detective’s business was Poiret’s business, but it was unlikely that he would be able to follow his man without being made out. He kept the banker in sight and was surprised at the numerous people, which James Wexler seemed to know and greet on his short walk.

  Frank thought to himself, “Perhaps I’m mistaken after all. He may be honest and maybe I let my imagination run wild.”

  As James Wexler put more distance between himself and his bank, he assumed a totally different attitude. He even threw away his cigar. He stopped at a building and looked at the sign. It spelled, “Joseph Kennan, assurance broker.” The banker went inside.

  In spite of his surprise the doctor decided to wait for the banker to come out. Not allow any suspicion by loitering around the place, he crossed the road and looked at three workmen, who were engaged in installing a revolving door to a new shop. The young man did not have to wait for a very long time, because in less than ten minutes James Wexler came out again, accompanied by two men. One was tall and thin and wore a pair of glasses, while the other was exquisitely dressed and had the unmistakable air of a man of the world about him. Frank would have given most of the twenty thousand shilling, which he still carried in his pocket, if he could hear their conversation. He walked carefully forward so as to be within earshot. When he was not five feet from them, he heard a whistle repeated twice. There was something strange and curious about this whistle and Frank looked around. He noticed that the three men, whom he was following, had also been alarmed by it. The tall man with the gold-rimmed glasses glanced suspiciously around him and then after a nod to his companions turned around and went back into his office. James Wexler and the other man continued walking. Frank was undecided. He could only try and discover who one of the two men was. Close to the entrance to the door of the assurance office, he saw an elderly gentleman with a dog selling newspapers. He decided to follow the man, who was now walking with the banker. They didn’t go far. They entered a fine looking house in Smedley Street. Here Frank was for a moment puzzled, as he didn’t know to whom they were paying a visit, but noticing a postman delivering letters nearby, he asked and was informed that it was the residence of Mr. Jeff Lett, the industrialist.

  “I’ve struck gold today,” he thought. “If only my friend the newspaper seller can tell me the names of these gentlemen, I’ve done a good day’s work. I do hope he knows them.”

  The old man and the dog were still there and he had two customers standing by his stall, looking at the newspaper headlines. A young man in peaked cap was arguing so hotly with the old man that they didn’t notice Frank.

  “You can stow that piping,” said the old man. “I’ve told your father the price I would take. You want my stall and stock-in-trade. Hand over five hundred and fifty shilling and they are yours.”

  “But my dad is only willing to pay three hundred,” answered the other.

  “Then he don’t need give nothing more, because he won’t get it,” answered the newspaper vendor quickly. “Three hundred shilling for an establishment like this? Why, I’ve sometimes taken fifty shilling and more and that ain’t a lie.”

  Frank Defoe was impatient and addressed himself to the old man.

  “My good man,” he said, “I think you were here half an hour ago. Did you see the three gentlemen, who came out of the office, there and stood talking together for a short time, here?”

  The old man turned quickly around and glanced at the doctor from head to toe with a supremely impertinent attitude and then, in a tone, which matched his glance, replied, “What’s it to you, who they are? Mind your own business and be off!”

  Frank had some experience of this delightful class of city dwellers, of which Chuff was a perfect specimen and knew their habits and language.

  “Come, my chicky,” he said, “spit it out! It won’t blister your honest tongue to answer a man, who asks a simple question.”

  “Well, then, I saw them well enough and what’s that to you?”

  “Why, I should like to have their names, if they have such an article belonging to them.”

  Chuff raised his hat and scratched his head, as if to stimulate his brains and as he brushed up his dirty grey hair, he eyed Frank cunningly.

  “And what if I know the blokes’ names and tells them out to you, what will that do for yours truly?” he asked.

  “One shilling.”

  The old man puffed out his cheeks, then expelled the air as a mark of his disgust at the meanness of the offer.

  “Watch your pocket, Milord,” he said sarcastically, “or you’ll be losing the fortune, you hid away in your breeches pockets. One shilling, indeed! Perhaps you’d like me to make a gift of them to you?”

  The doctor smiled pleasantly.

  “Did you think, old man, that I was going to offer you twenty thousand smackers?” he asked.

  “Right again!” cried Chuff. “I knew you weren’t a fool and you’ve proven me right.”

  “Why do you think I’m not a fool?”

  “Because a fool would begin by offering me five shilling and then go up sharp to ten, while you began at a pittance.”

  Frank smiled.

  “But you are too old a bird to be caught like that,” continued the gentleman, patting his dog. He suddenly stopped and contracted his brow as if in deep thought. Of course he knew the names of the three men, but he didn’t want to give them up. Harmless people didn’t usually ask questions of the sort to newspaper vendors and to open his mouth could be to hurt Joseph Kennan and his associates. This thought made him think twice.

  “Keep your shillings, my son,” said the old man. “I’ll tell you what you want to know all for the sum of free and for nothing, because I’ve taken a fancy to your attitude. The chap with the glasses is Joseph Kennan, the nicely doffed out gentleman is Earl Keresley and the other one, let me think. Oh, I have it. He’s James Wexler.”

  Frank Defoe was so delighted that the other told him the truth that, taking from his pocket twenty shilling, he tossed it to the vendor.

  “Thanks, governor,” said Chuff and was about to add another compliment, when he glanced down the street. The expression on his face changed in an instant and he fixed his eyes on the doctor’s face. His eyes glanced strangely at him.

  “What’s the matter, my friend?” asked Frank, surprised at the sudden change.

  “Nothing,” answered Chuff. “Nothing at all. Just as you seem a decent sort of fellow, I would recommend that you keep your wits about you and look out for traps.”