Love and the Ironmonger

  Chapter XX—A Dark Man of Foreign Appearance

Mr. Dawkins had guessed aright in supposing that George Early felt safe on the temperance question; his old confidence returned at once. He started to enjoy life in real earnest. When at business, he stuck fast to the firm's affairs, and when away, as was not infrequent now, he went everywhere and saw everything as people with health and money do.

Mrs. Early enjoyed herself immensely, and even Aunt Phœbe, who had once felt she could never forgive her nephew for his recklessness, began to assume a placid air, and agreed to prolong her visit to Brunswick Terrace.

Perhaps the alcohol restriction was a thorn in George Early's side; but if so, he grieved in secret, for in public you would never dream that he had a care.

The keen-eyed Mole and his watchful band doggedly followed their quarry, and used every artifice known to the modern detective to catch him napping; to all of which the legatee submitted patiently, and clung to the teetotal habit like a fanatic.

Having disposed of the truth-telling business, and being desirous of paying off old scores to the last fraction, George would often take customers in hand himself, and, followed by Gray with a note-book, tax his imagination to the utmost over such prosaic things as cooking-ranges, gulley-pipes, and girders. To all this fiction Gray would listen, conscious that much of the elaboration was at his expense.

At a time when the legacies were, so far as Gray and Co. were concerned, quite a thing of the past, a dark man of foreign appearance, with black hair and well-curled moustaches, made his appearance in the Fairbrother showrooms, and desired to see the principal. He was expensively dressed, and was accompanied by a friend, whose business it seemed to be to echo the abstract statements of the foreign man and agree with his conclusions.

George Early appeared, and learned that the foreign gentleman, whose name was Caroli, desired to choose many elaborate articles for an English mansion about to be built.

To so distinguished and wealthy a customer the pick of the Fairbrother goods were drawn forth, and ably eulogized by the chief himself.

"What can be said of a stove like that?" said Caroli, appealing to his friend, as a magnificent invention of burnished brass and copper scintillated before them.

"That is a stove to be considered," said Caroli's friend.

"It is magnificent!" said Caroli.

"Splendid!" said his friend.

"The pattern exactly," said George, solemnly, "as supplied to His Majesty. Chosen by the Queen herself from among fourteen hundred stoves."

They passed along in procession, followed by menials ready to drag forth hidden treasures, strip and lay bare their beauty to the eye of Caroli.

Cost was nothing to the wealthy foreigner. He wanted beauty, and looked at everything with an artist's eye. Doubtless an hereditary trait of his noble ancestors.

"Without beauty I could not live," cried Caroli.

"Beauty is the very heart of life," echoed his friend.

"Those leaves are not real, but the artist's soul is in them," cried Caroli.

"They are the perfection of art," said his friend.

The leaves, which happened to be on a wrought-iron gate, were, George informed his customers, designed from a pattern originally executed by the King's sister.

With exclamation and acclamation, volubility on Caroli's part, and parrot-like earnestness on that of his friend, ingenious fiction by George Early, patient scribbling by the order clerk, and continuous perspiring by the menials, the best part of two hours went by before George led his noble patron to the chief office.

There the principals sat and talked, while the paid hirelings drew up a clean account of the goods chosen and their cost.

Caroli glanced at it, and tossed it aside to continue an interesting account of something that happened to somebody at Monte Carlo, in which he had succeeded in getting the attention of George Early.

In his foreign way, Caroli gesticulated, and held George with his eyes through the most exciting part of the narrative. It was a long story, too, and if anybody else had been there, they would have noticed that George Early's glance had become a fixed stare, and that Caroli's gesticulations had developed mysteriously into the passes commonly used by music-hall mesmerists.

His speech had altered strangely, too, and had taken a more commanding tone. He told George that he (George) was Caroli's friend, that Caroli was his distinguished customer, and that they had spent a pleasant morning. He said also that to commemorate this auspicious occasion they would drink together.

Whereupon Caroli suddenly produced a flat bottle of spirits and a glass, drank himself, handed some to his friend, and then poured out a glassful for George.

What would happen? George was a teetotaler. Surely he would not do as this man suggested; and yet he appeared to offer no opposition. Did he realize what he was about to do—what serious issues were at stake?

To the amazement of Gray, who had silently entered the room, George Early lifted the glass at Caroli's command, and drank off the spirit.

The worst of this lapse on the part of George Early was that he knew nothing about it. He remembered some mesmeric influence, in which Caroli had been the agent, but knew nothing of the whisky until his customers had gone, when he recalled the taste and Gray described the scene.

In addition came the usual letter from the lawyers.

Who could be at the bottom of it? Mr. Dawkins strenuously and indignantly denied any complicity in the affair. Nobody else could be interested but the philanthropic institution to whom the property would go. But who dare accuse any of these pious gentlemen?

Gray knew. He had had the shrewdness to follow the great Caroli, and he discovered that some of the pious gentlemen were not so pious as they seemed. Having got that far, he was able to make a bargain with Caroli in order to keep the facts to himself.

Of course the magnificent array of goods for the country mansion went back to their shelves. Caroli did not appear again.

Although his great desire was to meet the foreign gentleman once more and settle accounts with him, George Early chose the wiser course of putting himself under the chaperonage of his wife or her aunt, when away from home, in order to combat any further attacks.

And Aunt Phœbe performed her duty nobly. So nobly that George Early's enemies would have to wait until her vigil was relaxed. They did wait—and when the time came, made the most of it.

One afternoon Aunt Phœbe entered her niece's room in a great state of vexation. Something alarming had occurred. You could tell that by the way she flounced in, jerking her head sharply, and giving little emphatic thumps at nothing with her clenched hands. George, who followed her, sat in a dazed way on the first chair he came to.

Mrs. Early feared the worst, and her fears were realized.

"Bless you, I can't say how it happened," said Aunt Phœbe, her indignation almost depriving her of speech. "We were coming home in a hansom cab, and drove Oxford Street way as I had to make a call about some gloves. I wasn't away a quarter of an hour, I should think, but when I came back he was gone. Gone—wafted away."

"Gone?" echoed her niece.

"Missing," said Aunt Phœbe, with a wave of her hand. "I found him standing on the pavement a little later trying to recollect who he was. All he seems to know of it is that a mysterious man told him I had been taken ill, and was carried into a wine-shop. A wine-shop, of all places! Instead of me he found there the foreign person. What happened, goodness only knows, except that he's been drinking!"

Mrs. Early clasped her hands and gazed tearfully at her husband, who sat looking in a forlorn way at the carpet.

"What's to be done?" asked Mrs. Early, in a loud whisper.

"To be done?" said Aunt Phœbe. "That's what's worrying me. Another turn like this, and the two of you are beggars. Think of it—beggars!"

"It's a shame!" cried Mrs. Early, indignantly.

"It's a conspiracy," said her aunt, darkly. "And I shall make it my business to find the conspirators. If that sharpshoes of a lawyer isn't at the bottom of it, then somebody else is. One thing's certain, there must be no more office work for the present. And before the day is out we must decide what is to be done. The first thing I should advise is your getting rid of those three men. They've certainly had a hand in this business."

Towards evening George Early regained his normal condition, and expressed himself very forcibly about the way in which he had been treated.

"I'm afraid it won't do you any good to stand there using language," said Aunt Phœbe, shortly. "It would be more interesting to know what you propose doing."

George had nothing to propose at the moment, but promised to try to think of something. Having taken the edge off his resentment, he said that, as matters stood, there was only one thing to be done, and he meant to do it. So the trio sat far into the night discussing the new proposals.

  Chapter XXI—Follow my Leader

The detectives of Dibbs and Dubbs usually began their sentry-go at Brunswick Terrace as the clock struck eight. On the morning following George Early's second encounter with Caroli, Mole was at his post at six. Looking over the bedroom curtains at half past, George noted the fact and swore softly. He completed his toilet, and, picking up the shabby portmanteau he had packed the night before, made his way to the back door.

The sleek top hat and frock coat of business had disappeared, and George stood arrayed in the loudest of check suits, covered by a loose light coat; on his head was a cloth cap. In this array he made his way out of the back gate, traversed the passage sacred to the tradesmen who supplied Brunswick Terrace, and emerged in a mews, which led to a main thoroughfare at right angles to that where the patient Mole kept watch.

George peeped cautiously round the corner: the coast was clear. He hailed a disconsolate cabman, who had all but given up hope of a fare, and drove off to Victoria.

Arrived at the station, some strategy was necessary to make sure that the detectives were really evaded. George narrowly watched the movements of the men who loitered about the platform, and made feints of leaving the station to see if any would follow him. Finding that nobody took any interest in his movements, he approached the booking clerk and ordered his ticket in a whisper. The train and George went off soon after seven without any further excitement than the frantic barking of a dog, that had been left behind.

It was perfectly obvious that George Early intended to checkmate his enemies by discreetly withdrawing from London for a time. In the seclusion of the country he would be able to formulate some plan of campaign by which both lawyers and blackmailers would find that they had met their match.

George got out at a small station forty miles or so down the line. The only other passenger to alight was a young woman with three paper parcels, who had evidently too many personal troubles to be concerned in watching the movements of any young man. Having inquired of the one porter the whereabouts of the Wheatsheaf Inn, the fugitive chief of Fairbrothers' had the satisfaction of finding a three-mile walk before him.

The landlord of the Wheatsheaf was not troubled much with visitors, although he advertised his house as the most popular in the country. George found himself to be the one and only guest.

"What is there to do about here?" he asked, when he had disposed of a substantial meal.

"Do?" said the landlord, evasively. "It depends on what you want to do."

"I'm not particular," said George. "I've come down for a bit of a change. Any fishing here?"

The landlord lifted one hand, and wagged his head.

"You've hit on the one thing we haven't got. Anything but fishing."

"Shooting?" said George.

"Not at this time o' the year. You won't get shooting anywheres just now."

Fishing and shooting were all that George could think of, and he was not an adept at either.

"If you'll take my advice," said the landlord, looking his visitor over critically, "you'll just go easy at first. You've been overdoing it, I can see, and you're fair run down. You don't want no shootin' nor fishin', but plenty of good grub and a drop of good beer. I've seen young fellers the same way before. You take my tip and go easy."

As there appeared to be nothing else to do, George had to be content with this programme. He walked out for the rest of the morning, and for the greater part of the afternoon; the evening was spent in the bar-parlour, where the landlord's old cronies drank George's health and advised him to "take it easy."

Next morning the landlord handed over a telegram, which read—

"Now my little beauties," said George, smiling, "we'll see how you like that. Perhaps your friend Caroli can mesmerize some one into giving you a new job."

Three days of inaction passed, and George had not seen fit to desert his country retreat. It was slow work walking, eating, and drinking, and the new master of Fairbrothers' was beginning to fall back on the philosophy of the ancients, that wealth and position invariably have their disadvantages.

This morning it was raining, and he stood at the inn door debating whether he should brave the elements or retire to the bar-parlour. The problem was solved for him swiftly in an unexpected fashion. A carrier's cart, much bespattered and glistening with wet, had turned a bend in the road and was now approaching the inn at a jog-trot. As George looked at the man tucked up under the hood behind the old white horse, another face peering from between the parcels attracted his attention. A keen glance satisfied him that this belonged to no other person in the world than Mrs. Gray's husband.

He turned indoors and went upstairs swiftly and silently. There was nobody about, and George slipped into his bedroom, holding the door open that he might the better hear any conversation which ensued. He anticipated some lively proceedings.

"Early?" said the landlord. "Yes, the gentleman's out, I think."

"Indeed!" said the voice of Gray. "Perhaps you'll be so good as to make sure that he is out, if you please. It's very important that I should see him now."

"Perhaps I will," said the landlord, "and perhaps I won't." The fact that Gray had not ordered anything, but had only asked for a visitor in a peremptory voice, did not help to recommend him.

"You might give me a whisky," said Gray, in a milder tone, observing his mistake. "Do you think Mr. Early will be long before he comes back?"

The landlord didn't know, but called to the stable-boy and told him to see if Mr. Early was in his bedroom.

"I'll go with him, if you don't mind," said Gray.

George seized his hat as these remarks reached him, and looked about the room. There was no way out, so he promptly crawled under the bed.

Somebody knocked and entered. "Ain't here," said the voice.

"Are you sure this is his room?" said Gray, entering and looking about.

"This is the room all right," said the boy; "'e ain't 'ere." Some words ensued on the landing by Gray endeavouring to make a search of the house, from which he was finally persuaded by the landlady, a portly dame of fifteen stone.

As the departing footsteps reached the bottom of the stairs, George came forth with a smile.

"Find him?" said the landlord downstairs to the boy.

"Ain't there," said the boy.

"Now I come to think of it," said the landlord, who had taken a dislike to Gray, "he went down to the post-office just before you came in. You'll catch him up if you hurry; it's only a couple of miles."

Gray prepared to depart. "If I should miss him," he said, "you can say the gentleman who called came from—from Mrs. Early."

The landlord grunted, and Gray went off, having first satisfied himself that the man he wanted was not lurking about outside.

From his bedroom window George watched until Gray was nearly out of sight, and at once prepared to take advantage of so favourable an opportunity for slipping off. To go down the stairs would mean creating suspicion; he raised the window and looked out; nobody was about He promptly climbed into the sill, dropped into the yard below, and walked round to the front.

"Hallo!" said the landlord, "there's been a man here for you. Come from Mrs. Early, he said."

"Ah!" said George, surprised; "where is he? I must see him at once."

"I told him you went to the post-office," said the landlord; "he was a rough-looking customer, and very disrespectful. I thought he'd come begging, perhaps."

"He's a scoundrel," said George, indignantly; "I expect the lazy brute won't come back. I must go after him at once; how long has he been gone?"

"Quarter of an hour," said the landlord; "I hope I didn't do wrong in——"

"That's all right," said George; "who's trap is that outside?"

"That's my trap, sir," said the landlord. "If you'd like to——"

"I'll borrow it," said George, "and go after him." He ran out, and jumped into the trap. In another minute he was driving off full speed to the station.

"Here, hi!" yelled the landlord, rushing out "He's going the wrong way. That ain't the way to the post-office. Hi! Jim, run after him—quick! Tell him——"

George heard the shouts, but drove straight ahead. He did the three miles in twenty minutes, and reached the station just as a train steamed out. It was a down train, but George would have boarded it promptly if he could have done so; any escape was better than none. He stood on the platform cursing his luck, when a familiar voice fell on his ear. He darted into the waiting-room, and peered through the window. What he saw did not add anything to the joy of his position, rather the reverse. Two men were wrangling with a porter; one was Parrott, the other Busby.

"I'm done now," thought George; "they've got me fairly. They're going to hold me up while that foreign hound gets on to me again."

He looked round the waiting-room, but it offered no escape. There was only one thing to do—to go off in the trap again; and George was about to do it, when a London train rushed into the platform. He hesitated; if he could get across the line, he'd be safe. He waited feverishly for a few minutes, hoping that Busby and Parrott would move, but they did not. The guard's whistle blew.

"Here goes," said George. He picked up a water-bottle, and hurled it at the outside window. A terrific crash followed, and the landlord's pony started off with a mad gallop. Parrott and Busby rushed through the waiting-room into the street. As they did so, George darted across the platform, and jumped down on to the rails. The train was moving away from the opposite side. Grasping a hand-rest, he climbed the nearest carriage, and opened the door.

"Hi! Stand away!" yelled a porter.

"It's Early!" screamed a voice, which George recognized as Busby's.

Safe inside, with the train gathering speed, he leaned out of the window, and waved his cap.

The two men were dancing frantically on the platform.

"Stop him!" roared Parrott; "stop the train!"

But it was too late to follow this advice, and as the train rushed off George beheld his old colleagues gesticulating wildly around a solitary, powerless porter.

The journey started, the young man's thoughts were soon fully occupied. It was evident that the three men were fairly on his track, and had no intention of giving up the chase. If once they caught him they would keep him, and bring Caroli along to settle the third legacy. He could see through it all quite plainly. And, so far, he had not succeeded in finding a plan to properly check them.

George lit a cigarette, and settled himself moodily in the corner as the train pulled up at a station.

Presently the door of his compartment opened, and the guard appeared, accompanied by a porter and the station-master.

"That's the chap," said the guard, pointing at George.

The solitary passenger glared at him in dignified silence.

"Now then, m'lad," said the station-master; "you'll have to get out here."

"I'm going to Victoria, my man," said George, quietly.

"I've got orders to detain you; suspicious character," said the station-master, authoritatively. "You're sure this is the one?"—to the guard.

"That's him," said the guard.

"Look here," said George, darkly, as the station-master got into the carriage; "you'd better be careful what you're doing; I don't want any of you men to get into trouble, so I give you warning."

"He got in at Coddem?" said the station-master, turning to the guard.

"Coddem," said the guard.

"Now, come along," said the station-master, impatiently.

George sat up, and looked him severely in the eye.

"Where's your authority for detaining me?" he asked. "There'll be a row and heavy damages over this."

"It's all right," said the station-master; "I had a wire from Coddem to detain you—suspicious character."

"You've got the wrong man," said George. "Guard, start the train."

The station-master made up his mind quickly, and caught George by the arm.

"Give us a hand here, Joe," he said to the porter.

"Enough." George rose with dignity. "I'll go with you. It'll mean the sack for you all, this affair. Please don't say I didn't warn you."

"Don't you worry about us," said the station-master. "Right away, there!"

"Stop a bit," said the prisoner, pulling out a note-book; "I'll take your number please, Mr. Guard."

The guard smiled pleasantly, and displayed his number, gratuitously offering his name and address, and the age of his grandfather.

"If they should ask you," he said cheerfully, as he swung off in the moving train, "you can say I've been vaccinated."

With much elaboration George entered all particulars in his book, including the porter's number and description, a note of the station-master's whiskers, the time, and other odd things that gave weight to the occasion.

"If you'll promise not to attempt to escape," said the station-master, "you can wait in the booking-office until they come for you."

"No, thank you," said George, stiffly; "this is a criminal affair, and you must take the full consequences of it. It's just as well for you, perhaps, that you do not realize how serious it is."

"My orders are to detain you," said the man, stolidly.

"Where to?" asked the porter, as they halted by the booking-office.

"In the cloak-room," said the station-master. "I've got the guard's word that he's the man."

"There's no getting out of it," said George, as he was thrust into a small room cumbered with dusty trunks and parcels. "I warned you twice!"

With the confidence of official rectitude the station-master gave the door a slam and boldly turned the key.

"Suspicious character that," George heard him say to a passenger.

"Ay," said the other, "looked a smart young chap."

"A dangerous man in my opinion," said the station-master, "but he won't be here long; there's some people coming by the next train to identify him."

"Oh," thought George, "are there? So they've done me, after all." He gave vent to his feelings in a few choice expletives, and listened with dull curiosity to the retreating footsteps of his captors. He looked about him at the odd trunks and parcels, and finally noted that his hurried exit from the Wheatsheaf Inn had not improved his general appearance.

"No brushes here, of course," said George, looking round. "What's this?" He picked up a parcel in two straps with a handle. It proved to be a light dust coat. George used it to rub the mud splashes off his clothes and improve the appearance of his boots. He climbed up and looked through the narrow fanlight. There was not a living soul to be seen.

"I suppose I'm in this infernal place for a couple of hours," he grumbled. "What's that?" He listened; signs of life were evident in a basket by the window. George gave it a sharp tap. A short bark greeted him. "A dog!" He read the label, "Snooks, to be left till called for."

"Sorry for Snooks," said George, pulling out his pocket-knife, "but I must have amusement." He cut the cord, and a small fox terrier bounded out and nearly went into a state of drivelling idiocy in his efforts to show gratitude for release.

"Good boy!" said George, fondling the dog. "Wonder if there's any more here?" He overhauled the parcels. "Hallo!" A faint mew arose from another basket. "This is a feline member; name of Wilkins." He cut the strap and released a black kitten. "Good!" said George, "that's a sign of luck." The cat jumped to the floor, and in two seconds a furious and terrific combat ensued, followed by a wild chase. Over trunks, baskets, bags and parcels went Wilkins' cat, followed madly by Snooks' dog. There was a momentary parley on a hat-box, and the chase continued afresh, ending as suddenly as it began by Wilkins' cat disappearing through the fanlight.

In spite of this disappointment Snooks' dog wagged his tail and looked up gratefully at George for the brief excitement.

"This is going to be a beanfeast, I can see," smiled the captive. "If I can't get out of this place I'll make some trouble for that officious old fool. Suspicious character, he said I was! What's this?—more old clothes?" He pulled a plaid overcoat from under a pile of parcels and examined it. In one of the pockets he found a flask of whisky which he tasted, and promptly abandoned. From that he made a searching investigation of the room, overhauling other people's property without respect to name or rank, and displaying an inquisitive curiosity in the contents of small handbags. A square tin box puzzled him completely. He tapped it, and peered into the small holes on the top.

"There's some mystery here," thought George. "Perhaps it's an infernal machine, put here by one of the station-master's enemies. A man like that is sure to have enemies. I'll open it."

This was easier said than done, but the most obstinate of boxes like the most intricate of locks must give way before the perseverance of man. George exerted all his strength in a supreme effort and pulled. He was successful; the lid flew off with unexpected suddenness, and the contents came out in a shower.

George put down the box and laughed. "Well," he said, "who'd have thought of finding frogs in a cloak-room. Go it, Snooks!"

Snooks' dog needed no urging, but jumped and twirled and barked with astounding rapidity. The frogs with equal mobility spread themselves over the room, and afforded the prisoner amusement for a good quarter of an hour. A small battalion of them found refuge in a large hamper filled with farm produce. George watched this attempt at ambush with great interest.

So far the prisoner's confinement had met with no interruption from without. Stealthy footsteps approached the door once, but on this occasion he contrived to push a handbag through the fanlight and had the satisfaction of knowing that Joe, the porter, received it on his head. A few rude country oaths from Joe were the last sign of life from the platform.

George had not entirely given up hopes of escape, and the sound of footsteps on the platform warning him that the next train was nearly due, he began to take note of his position. If he stayed quietly where he was the pursuers would come up with him, and never leave him until they had accomplished their purpose, which, of course, was obvious. They could easily smooth over the station-master with a five-pound note.

There was no way of escape but by smashing open the door, an almost impossible task; the window was barred, and the ceiling looked too strong for escape by way of the roof. One thing only offered a way out and that was the fire-place, which George examined with interest. It was a fire-place with a very large grate, and an immense fire-guard of closely plaited wire surrounding it. George surveyed it quietly for a few moments, then collected an armful of brown paper and stuffed it in the grate. Having seen that the trap was firmly pulled down to prevent any smoke ascending the chimney, he sat down to await the arrival of the train.

He had not long to wait; in a few minutes he heard the signal bell go, and immediately afterwards the clanging of a hand-bell and the stentorian voice of a porter announcing the London train.

George struck a match quickly, applied it to the paper in the grate, closed the fire-guard to prevent any danger, and crouched down by the door. In less than half a minute a volume of rich smoke ascended to the ceiling and began to pour through the fanlight.

  Chapter XXII—Blind Man's Bluff

The station-master had just appeared on the platform in readiness for the train when the half-dozen waiting passengers began to dance wildly and run to and fro.

"Hi! Fire!" yelled a man in corduroys. "Station's afire!"

"Where?" cried the station-master. "What the——"

"It's the cloak-room!" yelled Joe, the porter. "That chap——"

"Get the key—quick!"

"Fire!" yelled the man in corduroys.

"Fire!" roared a ploughboy and a man with a gun.

The station-master ran up to the door, thumped at it, and shouted, while the porter, who had doubled along the platform and back again, cried, "Open the door!"

"Where's the key?" roared the station-master. "Gimme the key!"

"Get the key!" yelled the man in corduroys.

"Key, key! Fire!" shouted the ploughboy and the man with the gun.

"You've got it!" cried the porter. "You didn't gimme——"

"I gave it you!" shouted the station-master, dancing and waving his arms.

"You didn't!"

"Water!" yelled the man in corduroys.

"Water, water!" shouted the ploughboy and the man with the gun.

A blue haze of smoke hovered over the platform as the London train ran in, and in two minutes the driver and stoker, guards, and a score of passengers joined the excited crowd. From every carriage heads appeared, and a medley of voices said—

"It's a fire!"

"I've got it!" said the voice of the station-master, huskily, as he rushed forward in his shirt-sleeves and fumbled at the lock of the cloak-room.

"Stand back there!" cried the man in corduroys, as Joe ran up slopping two pails of water over the feet of the passengers, followed by the ploughboy and the man without his gun slopping two more each.

"Stand back!" yelled a dozen voices.

The lock turned, the doors flew open and out came a cloud of smoke. With it came George Early, just in time to miss a deluge. Two lady passengers got their feet wet and shrieked, and no fewer than six men swore volubly in the approved custom of their own locality.

George, being about the only one inclined to leave the fire to take care of itself, immediately, under cover of the smoke, made for the station exit.

His object was to get safely out of sight and leave no clue to his whereabouts.

The station stood in an isolated position a good two miles from the nearest village, and George Early's only avenue of escape was a narrow road bordered by high hedges. He looked round quickly, just as a youth, attracted by the commotion, left his bicycle and hurried on to the platform. Without hesitation the fugitive borrowed the machine, and went off down the road at top speed. Halfway he turned to see how matters were progressing in the rear, and descried three figures following at a rapid pace on foot. George didn't need to look twice to see who they were.

At the first bend of the road he swung the bicycle over a hedge and abandoned it. Turning off at a right angle he ran along under cover of another hedge bordering a meadow, and was just about to congratulate himself on having eluded his pursuers, when a shout of discovery went up.

Off went George again, over a smooth green towards a clump of trees. Loud cries now sounded in the rear, and the fugitive, turning to discover the cause of them, saw the three men wildly gesticulating. He hesitated a moment, but as they still followed he started off again. The cause of the row was now apparent: his pursuers were signalling to some men in the fields ahead of him to bar his passage. It was evident that they meant to do so from the way they began to form a ring.

"I'm surrounded," thought George, slowing down. He looked about him for a last chance, and swore at his slender opportunities. Nothing presented itself but a tall old oak.

To be surrounded and taken like a runaway convict was too galling; George made for the tree and prepared to climb. His breath was nearly done, but he easily reached the lower branches, and by the time a ring of twenty men had reached the vicinity, was able to pull himself nearly to the top.

"What's he done?" asked a farm labourer, as Gray and his colleagues in a profuse state of perspiration joined the group.

"We're after him," said Busby.

"You needn't tell us that, mate," said another man. "What do yer want him for?"

"Set fire to the railway station," said Gray.

"Liar!" came a voice from the clouds.

"Go up after him," said Parrott, pushing Busby forward.

"Let Jimmy go," said Busby.

"Keep 'em off," said George. "They're after my money!"

Gray came forward promptly and said, "A sovereign for the first man who fetches him down!"

"Two pound each to the men who hold 'em while I get away," yelled George.

A faint cheer from the labourers. "Look here," cried Gray; "he can't pay you! I'll give five pounds to the man who brings him down."

George booed and dropped a branch on Gray's head. "I'm after them quids," said a strapping farm-hand, throwing off his coat and clambering up the tree.

"Pull him down!" cried George. "You'll all get in gaol for this if you're not careful."

Another man followed the first one, and a third followed the second.

"Five pound to the one who gets him," yelled Gray, encouragingly.

George tore off a branch and hit out at the first man as he came within reach. The man grew angry and grabbed at George's leg. Missing it, he clutched at the tree, and received a boot on his fingers. The howl that followed unnerved the third man, who descended in haste on to Parrott's shoulders.

George now climbed out to the end of a branch and worried the man that was overhauling him.

"You'll get six months for this," he said in a terrible voice.

"Come on," said the man, "you'd better give in. I've got you fair." x "Come a bit further," said George, now on the end of the branch.

The second man, who had been manœuvring by a different route, now appeared and made a grab at George's collar. The first man, fearful of losing his prize, did the same. George clutched at both, and the next moment, with a mighty crack, the branch gave way, and the three went tumbling down through the lower branches.

The first man picked himself up and rubbed his leg; the second man swore, gazed ruefully at a tear in his trousers, and sucked a bleeding thumb; George lay quite still.

The three men from Fairbrothers' ran forward.

"Here you are!" said one of the labourers. "Now, where's the five pound?"

"Hold on!" said the second man. "We brought him down together! That's half each!"

Gray looked down at the still form of his late master and turned white. George was lying just as he had fallen, with blood trickling from a scratch across the forehead.

"You've done something now!" said Gray. "You've killed him!"

"What!" said the first man in a whisper.

"He's done for!" said Gray, anxious to avoid paying now that affairs had taken a serious turn.

Number Two gave one look at George, then edged out of the crowd and bolted.

"It seems to me," said a man with black whiskers, "that it's you fellows who've done this chap to death, hunting him like a wild beast, and then trying to put the blame on to honest working men."

The crowd murmured approval at this speech, and Gray knelt down and tried to rouse Mrs. Early's husband.

"He's breathing!" he said. "Fetch some water!"

"Can't get no water here," said Black Whiskers. "Better take him down the village afore he pegs out."

"Take him down to the village," chimed in the others.

The ex-legatees, being in the minority, and not knowing what else to do, assisted in carrying George as directed. Three of the men accompanied them, the others returning to their work.

The procession moved slowly, and eventually came in sight of a red-brick house.

"That's the parson's," said one of the men. "We'll take him there; he's a bit of a doctor."

The parson received the insensible man graciously, and heard the story of the accident. George was carried into the library and laid on a sofa, and after a brief examination the parson said he believed the case was not very serious, but that the patient must remain where he was for the present.

"You are staying in the village?" he said, looking somewhat unfavourably at Gray and his companions.

"We're not," said Gray. "But we shall stay now to hear how he gets on."

"Very well," said the clergyman. "I shall be pleased to give you information of his progress. Meanwhile, you need not consult a doctor. I think I can manage the case."

The vicar was one of those men with a smattering of medical knowledge, insufficient to enable him to cure anybody, but sufficient to give him a wild anxiety to want to. He shut the door softly on the three men and returned to the library.

"Strange!" he muttered. "I can find no symptoms of this man having had a heavy blow, and the state of unconsciousness is different from the ordinary."

"Perhaps it's shock, pa," said his daughter, who had ventured to take a look at George.

"True. Very likely. Perhaps you are right, my dear."

He felt George's pulse and examined the scratch on his forehead, which was clearly but a trivial hurt.

"Perhaps you are right, my dear. But come along. I'll get you to go down to the town for me and get a prescription made up."

As they left the library George's right eyelid flickered slightly, as their footsteps echoed down the passage the lid began to open, and by the time all sound of them had ceased it was lifted to its fullest extent. The left eyelid followed the right one, and George Early lay with both eyes open. Then his head moved slowly, and his eyes having cautiously surveyed the room, his features broke into a broad smile.

Whether or not George's tongue would have begun to wag will never be known, for at that moment footsteps sounded outside the door, and the vicar entered. He found the patient as he had left him.

"He's coming to, I think; there seems to have been a slight movement," he murmured.

George's face twitched, and he uttered a faint—a very faint—groan.

"Ah!" said the vicar, as if it was the pleasantest sound in the world, "I thought so—I thought so!"

By the time that the vicar's daughter returned George was fully conscious, but evidently still suffering from shock.

"I won't use that now, my dear," said her father. "I think we can effect a cure by simpler methods. Do you feel any pain?" he said to George.

There was no response, and George appeared to be unconscious that any one was speaking.

"He doesn't hear you, pa," said the vicar's daughter.

"Do you feel any pain?" said the parson in a mild shout.

There was no response.

"His hearing's affected by the shock," said the vicar, wisely. "I've known such cases, though they are rare."

He motioned to George to attract his attention, and repeated the question. George looked in a scared sort of way, and put his hand to his ear. The vicar shouted loudly, then louder still.

George shook his head, and made a feeble motion for the question to be written down.

"It's as I thought," said the vicar to his daughter that evening. "The sudden shock has brought on complete deafness and a temporary paralysis of the faculties. He must stay here to-night, and we shall see how he has progressed to-morrow."

"Will his friends in the village take him away, papa?"

"I don't think so. He has intimated to me that they are undesirable men, and my private opinion is that they are up to no good. I've written to the address of a doctor friend of his, who will come down to-morrow, and with whom I shall be interested to discuss the peculiarities of the case. It is a most singular occurrence."

"Very, pa," said his daughter.

On the morrow George was in much the same state as previously, so far as hearing was concerned; his sight also appeared to be affected. The fall had not, however, in any way injured his appetite, for he managed to eat a hearty breakfast. The vicar nodded his head, and said that he had known such cases before; it was as he thought. To the inquiries of Gray and the others he sent word that the invalid was progressing favourably, but could not converse with visitors.

George's friend, the doctor, arrived about midday. He proved to be one John Cattermole, a Walworth chemist, to whom George, in his clerking days, had applied occasionally for relief in bodily ailments, and very frequently for assistance in pecuniary difficulties. In the hour of prosperity George had not forgotten Cattermole, and now, when the tide of fortune had turned against him, he knew that his call for help would be answered. The friendly chemist arrived hot and dusty, in a frock coat and silk hat much the worse for wear.

"A clever man," thought the parson; "has the utter disregard of appearances common to genius."

He greeted him warmly.

"You will agree with me, I think, that it is a most remarkable occurrence," said the vicar, when they eventually visited George, who sat in the library staring at a bookcase.

"I do," said Cattermole, laconically.

The vicar continued to pour forth his opinions, and relate instances of cases he had known, during which harangue George managed to apprise his friend of the state of affairs by a most unmistakable wink. Being thus informed, Cattermole became more amiable, and begged a private interview with the patient for a special examination.

"I think he will agree with me, my dear," said the vicar to his daughter; "he is one of the most enlightened men I have ever met, and one of the few who seemed to attach any weight to my opinion."

"He didn't say much, pa."

"It is not what he said, my dear; it's the way he looked and listened. You don't understand clever men as I do."

A quarter of an hour elapsed, and Cattermole left the library.

"It is shock," he said quietly.

"As I thought," said the vicar.

"Exactly," said the other; "you have treated the case perfectly."

"My dear sir——"

"I mean it," said Cattermole, smiling. "Now I wonder if you could supply me with some bandages? And perhaps you have such a thing as a green shade for the eyes. Both hearing and sight are affected, but there is no danger in travelling. We shall return to town immediately."

"My dear sir, I have all you require. And you must allow me—I insist on ordering the carriage for you."

When George Early emerged from the parsonage to enter the carriage his head was enveloped in bandages, covered by a black silk neck-cloth. A green shade covered his eyes. The shock had evidently affected his limbs also, for he moved very slowly, supported on one side by the vicar, and on the other by Cattermole.

Both accompanied him to the station, and it was perhaps due to the grave nature of the report that morning that they performed the journey without interruption from the discharged trio. Those worthies, on hearing later that George had left, abused the parson shamefully, and pointed out to the station-master that such a dunderhead as himself ought not to be allowed on any station down the line.

The sight of George and his bandages had stopped the station-master's tongue; and while he described the fire scare, and how it proved to be nothing, to the vicar, he kept the story of the prisoner's misdeeds in the cloak-room, and the heavy claim for damages he should prefer against him, to himself. Seeing how friendly the vicar was with the young man, it was not his business to injure himself by interfering. The company would claim in due course.

George and his doctor friend went off in a first-class carriage, accompanied by the hearty wishes of the vicar. That worthy man grasped George's inanimate hand, and shook it warmly, exchanged a few pregnant remarks with Cattermole, and waved a good-bye with his handkerchief. Even Joe and the station-master touched their hats as the train departed.

The conspirators allowed themselves to get well out of hearing, and then George pulled off the green shade and roared. Cattermole took it up, and roared too.