must have been he who wore those boots and retained the missing gems.
Even though he knew that Arthur had discovered him, he might still
flatter himself that he was safe, for the lad could not say a word
without compromising his own family.
Well, your own good sense will suggest what measures I took next. I
went in the shape of a loafer to Sir George s house, managed to pick up
an acquaintance with his valet, learned that his master had cut his
head the night before, and, finally, at the expense of six shillings,
made all sure by buying a pair of his cast-off shoes. With these I
journeyed down to Streatham and saw that they exactly fitted the
tracks.
I saw an ill-dressed vagabond in the lane yesterday evening, said Mr.
Holder.
Precisely. It was I. I found that I had my man, so I came home and
changed my clothes. It was a delicate part which I had to play then,
for I saw that a prosecution must be avoided to avert scandal, and I
knew that so astute a villain would see that our hands were tied in the
matter. I went and saw him. At first, of course, he denied everything.
But when I gave him every particular that had occurred, he tried to
bluster and took down a life-preserver from the wall. I knew my man,
however, and I clapped a pistol to his head before he could strike.
Then he became a little more reasonable. I told him that we would give
him a price for the stones he held 1000 apiece. That brought out the
first signs of grief that he had shown. Why, dash it all! said he,
I ve let them go at six hundred for the three! I soon managed to get
the address of the receiver who had them, on promising him that there
would be no prosecution. Off I set to him, and after much chaffering I
got our stones at 1000 apiece. Then I looked in upon your son, told
him that all was right, and eventually got to my bed about two o clock,
after what I may call a really hard day s work.
A day which has saved England from a great public scandal, said the
banker, rising. Sir, I cannot find words to thank you, but you shall
not find me ungrateful for what you have done. Your skill has indeed
exceeded all that I have heard of it. And now I must fly to my dear boy
to apologise to him for the wrong which I have done him. As to what you
tell me of poor Mary, it goes to my very heart. Not even your skill can
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