"You are very interested in this lady's whereabouts," he said.

"Naturally. We are relations--distant relations, that is."

"Indeed! How, may I ask?"

"Well, you know--hang it all, I'm a deuced bad hand at pedigrees and all that sort of thing, but we are, in a way, cousins, on the mother's side," replied Truscott, testily, in a sort of tone which resented the doubt thrown upon his statement by the other's inquisitiveness.

"I see," said the lawyer, balancing a paper-cutter upon his forefinger.

But though his features preserved their polite imperturbability, the fact was, he did not believe one word of this statement. "Let me see, though," he went on, musingly; "I know who might be able to give you some information."

"Who?" asked Truscott, eagerly looking up.

"Miss Dynevard, of Dynevard Chase. She, you are aware, is Miss Strange's stepsister."

The other's countenance fell. He was more disappointed than he cared to say. Eveline Dynevard was the last person he could communicate with on the subject.

"Er--yes; of course," he said, hurriedly. "I had forgotten. I will write to Miss Dynevard."

"Can I make the inquiry for you?" asked the lawyer, politely.

"No--no, thanks. I needn't trouble you further. Much obliged; good morning," and taking up his hat Truscott made his way out into the street.

The lawyer went to the window and watched him turn the dingy corner.

"John," he said to his brother and junior partner, who at that moment entered. "You saw that chap who just went out from here. He's got an inkling of the contents of old Dynevard's will. I read him like a book as he sat there, clumsily trying to fish out the whereabouts of Miss Strange."

"H'm! Has he?" grunted John Grantham, who was the greatest possible contrast to his more astute brother, in that he was short, red-faced, and irritable. "He didn't succeed, I hope?"

"No. I couldn't have told him if I had wanted to, for the simple reason that I don't know. But he says he's her cousin."

"Hanky-panky," replied the other, with a contemptuous snort. "I don't believe a word of it. It's easy to see what he's after. And it would be a bad day for Lilian Strange, or indeed for any other pretty girl, when that rascal got making up to her. I know Master Ralph Truscott and his goings on, a good deal better than he thinks."

"Well, it's my opinion that the young lady's married long ago. An attractive girl like that is sure to be able to pick and choose in a country where gentlewomen are scarce, I should imagine."

"Bless my soul--yes," a.s.sented the other, changing his coat, and brushing his hat, preparatory to a start for home. "And the sooner friend Truscott goes to the devil, the better for society at large; he's going there as fast as he can, as it is."

Meanwhile, the subject of this charitable remark was seated in a hansom with his face turned westward.

"That d.a.m.ned lawyer was lying," he mused, "lying all the time. I could see it in his face, and it's those chaps' trade to lie. He could have told me if he had chosen. Never mind, I'll be even with him yet. I'll go to the Cape; by Jove, I will, and at once; the sooner the better, and this place is getting too hot for me just now. A few months of travel and sport, and it'll cool down again, and then, if I find the fair Lilian--Find her? I must find her, and I will." Then a suggestion, which Mr Grantham had thrown out, crossed his mind, and he turned hot and cold over the idea.

"I think it not improbable that we might have to seek for her under another name," the lawyer had said. "Miss Strange, you are aware, was a young lady of considerable attractions. She may have married."

"No, she will not," repeated Truscott to himself, "I know her better than that. Unless--I don't know. Time works queer changes. What a fool I was ever to let her out of my sight! And yet how could I tell that she would ever be worth keeping in it? It was the merest fluke that took me to Doctors' Commons this morning, and a still greater one that moved me to look at old Dynevard's will. I'll go out and look for her, the game's worth the candle, and, by George, if I win--and why shouldn't I? She will almost throw herself into my arms, if only as a contrast to the Kafirs and Boers she is living amongst. Then I'll turn over a new leaf. I could with Lilian, almost, I think. I never saw any woman to come up to her, unless it was--well, never mind. Yes, my luck is on the turn. Nearly six years ago, though. I wonder what she's like now."

He chuckled gleefully to himself as he leaned back in the cab and lighted a cigar. Then a thought struck him, and opening the trap in the roof he shouted a direction to the driver. The man turned his horse's head and in a moment was speeding away Citywards. Somehow, the reader has already seen the dusty office-door before which Truscott leaped out of his cab, as also the sharp boy who opened it.

"Is your master in?"

The boy nodded and jerked his thumb over his shoulder. Quickly mounting the stairs Truscott found himself in the same dingy apartment wherein Claverton had sat, several years previously.

"Hullo, where's Mork.u.m?" he asked, disappointedly.

"He is out for de day, sair," replied the occupant of the room, a hook-nosed son of Benjamin, rising from the table at which he was seated, and washing his hands with invisible soap, a process they greatly needed with the material article. "Can I not do anydings for you?"

"Yes, you can, Schultz," said the other, in a conciliatory tone. "The fact is, I want to renew."

The Jew looked keenly at him, and his little eyes twinkled maliciously.

"I can't do it, sair. De monish, you see, must be paid. It is over-due--over-due."

"What's the amount now?"

"Fifteen hundred and twenty-fife--six," answered Schultz, having duly consulted a ponderous tome bound in leather.

"The devil! Now look here, Schultz. We'll renew, say for three months, and you shall let me have the odd five hundred on your own terms."

"No, sair. Mishter Mork.u.m he said he cood not renew. I was haf de monish or--" and the speaker shrugged his shoulders in a way that was highly suggestive.

"But don't you see, Schultz, I must renew, at any rate," said the other, angrily. "Don't be a d.a.m.ned fool now. I'm on a good thing, I tell you, and you shall be paid in full in a few months' time. Don't you see?"

But the Israelite apparently did not see. He was as obdurate towards this Gentile, as the Egyptian Gentile had erewhile been towards his own ancestors. He only shrugged his shoulders and repeated: "Mishter Mork.u.m, he say I was haf de monish. Fifteen hundred and twenty-fife-- six."

Then Truscott saw that it was useless, and, unfortunately for him, his temper got the better of him. He raved, and swore, and shook his fist under the other's nose, threatening him with swift and sudden annihilation, and abusing him and his partner in a torrent of the coa.r.s.est invective he could lay tongue to. But of his violence the little Jew was not one whit afraid, for his hand was in his coat-pocket and his fingers were grasping the b.u.t.t of a revolver. His wicked little eyes sparkled like those of a rhinoceros, and the short grey bristles stood up upon his upper lip, as he turned upon Truscott in wrath.

"Hein! Vat do you shay? You shall not bully me, I can tell you dat much. You call yourself a shentelman, inteed? Yesh, you shall repent of this, ven you are in shail, dat's vere you shall be. If you come a step nearer, I shall shoot you," he went on, producing his weapon, for Truscott in another minute would have seized him by the throat and dashed him to the floor. But a bullet-wound would in no wise facilitate the success of his enterprise, if the result were no worse, and this he had the sense to see in a glimmering of reason which flashed in upon his rage. So he stopped, and, shaking his fist at the Jew, rushed from the room with a final curse--the parting epithet and scornful laugh flung after him by that worthy in no wise tending to allay his ire.

"Say, sonny," remarked the cabman to the smart boy at the door. "The Kernel's dustin' your guv'nor's jacket, ain't he?" For the row going on upstairs was in a measure audible in the street.

"Reckon he'll be the fust what's done it--and the last," replied the imp, pulling a handful of nuts from his breeches-pocket, and proceeding to crack them. Then Truscott emerged, and, flinging himself into the cab, started off westward.

"What a fool I was to get in a rage with the brute!" he thought, bitterly. "An utter fool! Now I've about done for myself, unless I can get away at once. I'm starting on a fool's errand, though. Six years-- or even five; it's a long time. She may laugh in my face even if I find her; and then again--Hang it! I'll just have another look at the will to make sure. No; it's right enough, though. Still, I'm starting off on a regular fool's errand. I've a good mind to give it up--a devilish good mind. But nothing venture, nothing win."

The last ray of the sickly September sunlight was slanting garishly over the dust and whirl and roar of the great city, as he alighted at the steps of his club. Yes, a change would do him good, he thought, looking around; and when he came back, why, then--Somehow he felt certain of winning the game which he had set himself to play, and was quite elate.

But the only thorn in his side--and a very sharp one it was--lay in the haunting fear lest the Jew should have him arrested before he could get away. And he could not get away for nearly a week. He would go down in the morning and see Mork.u.m himself, and make it all right with that dirty little Schultz. Mork.u.m was a reasonable fellow, and would be sure to renew, if not to accommodate him further, once an inkling of the case was laid before him; and as for Schultz, why, a bottle of champagne and a slap on the back would salve his wounded feelings.

With this comforting resolve, Truscott dined sumptuously, and, in high good-humour, started off to a friendly rubber, at which he reckoned to make some nice little pickings. It was a fine evening--he would walk; so, lighting a cigar, he stepped out briskly, humming a popular tune, and thinking over his prospects if this move succeeded.

Before he had gone far, some one accosted him.

"Beg pardon, Capting. Sorry to trouble a gentleman--"

"What the devil do you want?" cried Truscott, angrily, an uncomfortable idea taking hold of him.

"I must arrest you, Capting, at the soot of Silas B. Mork.u.m and Co,"

replied the other, touching him on the shoulder. "Very sorry, sir, extremely sorry; but dooty is dooty--ain't that right, Tom?"

"Tom," a thin, quiet-looking individual, who might be anything, from a Russian spy to a Methodist cla.s.s leader, nodded, and replied:

"That's so, Bill."