_A Step Higher._
"This is the boy, sir," said the policeman.
"Oh, is that him?" observed the inspector, sticking his thumbs into his
belt and gazing at Philip with professional severity.
Philip met their scrutiny without flinching. He leaned against the wall
with his hands in his pockets, one fist clinched over the pouchful of
gold, the other guarding a diamond bigger than the Koh-i-Noor.
"I am sorry I have only one chair, gentlemen," he said, apologetically.
"That's all right, my lad," said the inspector. "The constable here
tells me that you very pluckily helped him to capture a notorious
burglar. The man was hiding in this mews, and it seems you first saw him
looking in through your window. What were you doing at the time?"
"Packing my portmanteau."
"Oh, packing your portmanteau."
"Yes. That is it."
He stooped and nonchalantly threw it open. His clothes and boots, and
some of the other contents, were exposed to view. The inspector laughed.
"Not many diamonds there, Bradley."
"No, sir. I told you Mason was talking rubbish."
"Did he say any more about me being the boy who found the meteor?" asked
Philip, with a first-rate attempt at a grin.
"Wouldn't talk of anything else," volunteered P. C. Bradley.
"Judging by the way he dropped when I hit him, I expect he saw stars,"
said Philip.
"Are you leaving here?" asked the inspector.
"Yes, I must. The company which owns these premises intends to pull them
down on the first of next month."
"What is your name?"
"Anson."
"Ah! I think I remember hearing something about your mother's death.
Very nice woman, I was told. A lady, too."
"Yes, all that, and more."
"Of course, that accounts for your manners and appearance. Have you
found some friends?"
The inspector's glance roved from the serviceable portmanteau to
Philip's tidy garments, and it was his business to make rapid
deductions.
"Yes, most fortunately."
"Anybody connected with Sharpe & Smith?" the constable put in.
"Sharpe & Smith! Who are they?"
"Don't you know? Their young man certainly didn't seem to know much
about your movements. He has been here twice looking for you. The first
time was, let me see, last Monday, about four o'clock. I was on duty in
the main road, and he asked me for some information. We came and looked
in, but your door was locked. The man on this beat this afternoon told
me that the same clerk was making further inquiries to-day, so as soon
as I came on night duty I strolled into the mews to find out if you
were at home. That is how I happened to see you."
He turned toward the inspector.
"He was packing his bag at the moment, sir, and Mason had evidently been
scared from the window by my footsteps in the arch."
The inspector pursed out his under lip.
"The whole thing is perfectly clear," he said. "Boy, have you got a
watch?"
"No," said Philip, surprised by this odd question.
"Bradley, he hasn't got a watch," observed the inspector. He again
addressed Philip.
"Where are you going to-morrow?"
"I am not quite sure, but my address will be known to Mrs. Wrigley, the
James Street Laundry, Shepherd's Bush."
"Ah! The constable says you do not wish to be mixed up in the arrest of
Mason. There is no need for you to appear in court, but--er--in such
cases as yours, the--er--police like to show their--er--appreciation of
your services. That is so, Bradley, isn't it?"
"Yes, sir. If it hadn't been for him, I shouldn't be here now. Jocky had
me fairly cornered."
"You had no time to summon assistance?"
"I barely heard he was here, before the window was smashed, and I knew
he was trying to get out the other way. You heard him, Anson?"
Philip looked the policeman squarely in the eyes.
"You had just taken off your greatcoat when the glass cracked," he said.
Police Constable Bradley stooped to pick up his coat. He did not wish
this portion of the night's proceedings to be described too minutely. In
moving the garment he disturbed the packet of letters. Instantly Philip
recalled the names of the solicitors mentioned by the constable.
"You said that a clerk from Messrs. Sharpe & Smith called here twice?"
he asked.
"Yes."
He picked out one of the letters, opened it, and made certain of his
facts before he cried, angrily:
"Then I want to have nothing whatever to do with them. They treated my
mother shamefully."
The inspector had sharp eyes.
"What is the date of that letter?" he inquired.
"January 18th of this year."
"And what are those--pawn tickets?"
"Yes, some of my mother's jewelry and dresses. Her wedding ring was the
last to go. Most of them are out of date, but I intend to--I will try to
save some of them, especially her wedding ring."
Jocky Mason's romance was now dissipated into thin air. The contents of
the portmanteau, the squalid appearance of the house, the date of the
solicitor's letter, the bundle of pawn tickets, offered conclusive
evidence to the inspector's matter-of-fact mind that the ex-convict's
story was the effect of a truncheon rapidly applied to a brain excited
by the newspaper comments on a sensational yarn about some boy who had
found a parcel of diamonds.
This youngster had not been favored by any such extraordinary piece of
luck. Simple chance had led him to put the police on the track of a
much-wanted scoundrel, and he had very bravely prevented a member of the
force from being badly worsted in the ensuing encounter.
A subscription would be made among the officers and men of the division,
and they would give him a silver watch, with a suitable inscription.
The inspector noted the address given by Philip. It was on the tip of
his tongue to ask his Christian name, when the constable suggested that
they should examine the stable in which Mason had hidden.
They went up the mews. Philip locked his door, extinguished the candle,
and lay down on the mattress, fully dressed, with his newly bought rug
for covering.
He was so utterly tired, so exhausted physically and mentally by the
_sturm und drang_ of this eventful day, that he was sound asleep when
the two men returned.
They saw him through the window.
"He's a fine lad," said the inspector, thoughtfully. "I wonder what he
is going to make of himself. We might have asked him who his friends
were, but they are not badly off, or he couldn't have got that bag and
his new clothes. What on earth caused Mason to connect him with that
diamond story?"
"It's hard to say," observed the constable.
"I will look round and have a chat with him in the morning. Poor, little
chap! He's sleeping like a top now."
The inspector called at No. 3, Johnson's Mews, soon after ten next
morning, but the door was locked and the bird flown. He spoke to Mason
after that worthy was remanded for a week, but a night's painful
seclusion had sealed the burglar's lips. He vowed, with fearful
emphasis, to "get even" with the kid who "ahted" him, for the
policeman's evidence had revealed the truth concerning the arrest. But
not another word would Mason say about the diamonds, and for a little
while the inspector placed his overnight revelations in the category of
myths familiar to the police in their daily dealings with criminals.
* * * * *
Philip awoke shortly before seven.
He was cold and stiff. The weather was chilly, and there was no ardent
meteor in the back yard to keep the temperature of the house at a
grateful point during the night.
But his active, young frame quickly dissipated the effects of a deep
sleep on a draughty floor. He washed his face and hands at the sink in
the scullery, and his next thought was for breakfast, a proof, if proof
were needed, that he arose refreshed in mind and body.
In the Mile End Road there are plenty of early morning restaurants. At
one of them he made a substantial meal, and, on his return to the mews,
he lost not a moment in carrying out a systematic search through all
parts of the house and yard for any traces of the meteor which might
have escaped his ken in the darkness.
Amidst the earth and broken stones of the excavation there were a few
fragments of ore and some atomic specimens of the diamantiferous
material--not sufficient, all told, to fill the palm of his hand. But he
gathered them for obvious reasons, and then devoted five vigorous
minutes with O'Brien's spade to the task of filling up the deep hole
itself.
By lowering the flagstones and breaking the earth beneath, he soon gave
the small yard an appearance of chaos which might certainly puzzle
people, but which would afford no possible clew to the nature of the
disturbing element.
At best they might imagine that the dread evidence of some weird crime
lay in the broken area. If so, they could dig until they were tired.
But, indeed, he was now guarding against a most unlikely hypothesis. The
probability was that Johnson's Mews would soon cease to exist and become
almost as fabulous as the Island of Atlantis.
Moreover, he had a project dimly outlined in his mind which might become
definite if all went well with him that day. Then the ownership of No.
3, Johnson's Mews, would cease to trouble him, for Philip was quite sure
the whole power of the law would be invoked to prevent him from dealing
with his meteor if once the exact place where it fell became publicly
known.
O'Brien's shop was scarcely open before Philip was there with his
remaining portmanteau.
"Arrah, Phil, me bhoy, where in the name of goodness are ye gatherin'
the bee-utiful, leather thrunks from?" asked the pensioner.
"This is the last one," laughed the boy. "I am off now to find a cab,
and you won't see me again until Monday."
"Faix, he's a wonderful lad entirely," commented the old man. "What sort
of plundher has he in the bags, at all at all?"
In idle curiosity he lifted the last addition to the pile. It was
normal, even light in weight. Then he nodded knowingly.
"A lot of ould duds belongin' to Mrs. Anson, I'll be boun'. Ah, well,
the Lord rest her sowl, 'tis she was the fine woman. I wish I had some
one as cliver as her to write for me to that thafe of the worruld who
thried----"
As there are no signs in the art of literature similar to those which
serve the needs of musicians, whereby thoughts can be expressed _da
capo_, like a musical phrase, without risk of wearying the reader, it
must be understood that Philip had returned from far-away Fenchurch
Street Station with a four-wheeler before O'Brien exhausted the first
tirade of the day against the War Office.
With a cunning that amounted to genius, the boy placed the large, light
portmanteau and the two small, heavy ones on the roof of the vehicle,
where the driver did not notice the least peculiarity in their weight.
The two large, heavy bags he managed to lift into the interior, one of
them needing all his resources to carry it from the shop door to the
cab. Were he not fresh and untired, he could not have done it. As it
was, the effort was a splendid success.
The cabman knew little, and O'Brien less, of the tremendous avoirdupois
of this innocent-looking baggage. A long-suffering horse may have had
his private views, but he did not express them.
Saying good-by to the pensioner in the shop, Philip took good care that
none overheard his direction to the driver. In about three-quarters of
an hour he lumbered into Charing Cross Station without a soul in the
East End being aware of his destination.
"Where to, sir?" asked a porter who opened the door for him.
"I only want these bags to be taken to the luggage room," said Philip.
"You had better get some one to help you with these two. They are very
heavy. They contain specimens of iron ore."
The man took a pull at the solid one.
"By gum," he grinned. "You're right. That would surprise anybody who
tried to pick it up and run away with it."
"Rather," agreed Philip. "I am glad to say it is not going very
far--only to a laboratory for analysis."
He saw his belongings wheeled away on a barrow before he paid the cabman
liberally. He only gave the porter sixpence. The man believed that
Philip was a clerk in charge of the minerals; he was grateful for even
so small a sum.
On leaving the station, with the receipt for his luggage in his pocket,
Philip saw the four-wheeler turning into the Strand, on its way back to
Fenchurch Street. He smiled. The tie between East and West was severed.
No matter what else might happen to it, his meteor had left Johnson's
Mews forever.
It was now a few minutes past nine, but he still had a good deal to do
before he presented himself at Isaacstein's at eleven.
It was necessary to change his skin once more before the metamorphosis
he contemplated was complete. He was acquainted with a large outfitting
emporium in Ludgate Hill which exactly suited his requirements, so he
rode thither on a 'bus.
Passing Somerset House, he recalled the Jew's remark about getting his
letter "stamped." He did not know what stamping meant in a legal sense,
but he guessed that it implied the affixing of a seal of some sort.
There was no need to hurry over it, he thought.
At eleven o'clock Isaacstein would either keep his word about the five
thousand pounds or endeavor to wriggle out of the compact. In either
event, Philip had already determined to consult Mr. Abingdon.
He had now in his pocket about thirty-eight pounds. Half an hour later
he was wearing a new tweed suit, new hat and new boots; he had acquired
a stock of linen and underclothing, an umbrella and an overcoat. Some of
these articles, together with his discarded clothes, were packed in two
new, leather portmanteaux, on which his initials would be painted by
noon, when he would call for them.
He paid twenty-six pounds for the lot, and the man who waited on him
tried in vain to tempt him to spend more. Philip knew exactly what he
wanted. He adhered to his program. He possessed sufficient genuine
luggage and clothing to be presentable anywhere. He had enough money to
maintain himself for weeks if necessary. For the rest, another couple of
hours would place it beyond doubt whether he was a millionaire or not;
for, if Isaacstein failed him, London was big enough and wealthy enough
to quickly decide that point.
He entered the Hatton Garden office as the clocks struck the hour.
Some boys of his age might have experienced a malicious delight when the
youthful Israelite on guard bounced up with a smirk and a ready:
"Yessir. Vat iss it, sir?"
Not so Philip. He simply asked for Mr. Isaacstein, but he certainly
could not help smiling at the expression of utter amazement when his
identity dawned on his hearer.
The "Yessir, vil you blease valk in," was very faint, though; the
office boy ushered him upstairs as one in a dream, for he had been
warned to expect Philip, a Philip in rags, not a smart, young gentleman
like a bank clerk.
Isaacstein on this occasion looked and acted the sound man of business
he really was.
He awaited Philip in his private office. He seemed to be pleased by the
change effected in the boy's outward appearance. There was less of
burlesque, less outrage to his feelings, in discussing big sums of money
with a person properly attired than with one who wore the garments of a
tramp.
"Good-morning," he said, pleasantly. "You are punctual, I am glad to
see. Have you been to Somerset House?"
"No," said Philip.
"Why not? If you are going to control a big capital, you must learn
business habits or you will lose it, no matter how large it may be."
"Would Somerset House compel you to pay me, Mr. Isaacstein?"
"Not exactly, but the stamping of important documents is a means toward
an end, I assure you."
"I will see to it, but I wanted primarily to be certain of one of two
things: First, will you pay the five thousand pounds as promised?
Second, will you give me a fresh purchase note for my diamonds which
will not indicate so definitely that I am the boy concerning whom there
has been so much needless publicity during the last few days?"
It was of no avail for Isaacstein to bandy words with Philip. A boy of
fifteen who casually introduced such a word as "primarily" into a
sentence, and gave a shrewd thrust about "needless publicity" to the
person responsible for it, was not to be browbeaten, even in business
affairs.
The Jew whipped out a check book.
"Am I to make out a check for five thousand pounds to 'Philip'?" he
asked.
"No; to Philip Anson, please."
"Thank you; and now, shall I put any address on the contract note which
I will hand you?"
"The Pall Mall Hotel."
Isaacstein with difficulty choked back a comment. The Pall Mall Hotel
was the most expensive establishment in London. He tossed the check and
another document across the table.
"There you are," he said. "Come with me to my bank. You will excuse the
hurry. I have a lot to do before I leave for Amsterdam to-night."
Philip saw that the acknowledgment of his diamonds appeared to be in
proper form.
"There is no need at this moment to explain to the bank manager that I
am the hero of the police court affair?" he said.
"None whatever. I am lending you the money, and will be paying you a
good deal more very soon. That will be sufficient. He may draw his own
conclusions, of course."
Philip was now looking at the check.
"Why do you put 'account payee' between these two strokes?" he said.
The Jew explained, and even found time to show him how to cross and
indorse such important slips of paper.
Then they walked to the bank, a few doors away. The elderly manager was
obviously surprised by the size of the check and the youth of the
"payee."
"Oh, this is nothing--a mere flea bite," said Isaacstein. "In a few days
he will have ten times the amount to his credit."
"Dear me. Are you realizing property on his behalf?"
"Yes."
"Well, Mr. Anson," said the manager, pleasantly, "I hope you will take
care of your money."
"I want you to do that," smiled Philip, who was slightly nonplused by
the prefix to his name, heard by him for the first time.
"Oh, if you leave it with me it will be quite safe."
"I cannot leave all, but certainly I will not spend five thousand pounds
in a week. I mean to buy some property, though, and--can I have a
hundred now?"
"By all means."
Philip wrote his first check and received twenty crisp five-pound notes.
Isaacstein stood by, smiling grimly. He had not yet got over the
farcical side of this extraordinary occurrence, and he was wondering
what the bank manager would have said could he but see Philip as he,
Isaacstein, saw him no later than the previous day.
"By the way," said Philip, whose heart was beating a little now,
"suppose I wish to give a reference to anybody, will you two gentlemen
answer for me?"
"The bank wall always say whether or not your check will be honored to a
stated amount. In other respects, Mr. Isaacstein, who brought you here,
will serve your purpose admirably--none better in the city of London,"
replied the banker.
Isaacstein placed both feet together and his head sank between his
shoulders. He again reminded Philip of a top. The boy fancied that in a
second or two he would begin to spin and purr. The bank manager's
statement flattered the little man. It was the sort of thing he
understood. Philip privately resolved to make this human top wobble when
alone with him in the street again.
"One more question, and I have ended," he said. "Where is the best place
to store some valuables?"
"It all depends on their nature. What are they? Plate, jewels,
paper----"
The Jew's ears were alert now, and the boy smiled faintly.
"Oh," he explained, "I have a very large quantity of rich ore which I
wish to lodge in some place where it will be secure and yet easy of
access."
"I would recommend you to rent a strong-room in the safe deposit across
the street. There you have absolute security and quick access during
business hours."
Philip expressed his thanks and quitted the bank with his agent.
In the middle of Holborn, in the midst of the jostling, hurrying
occupants of one of the busiest thoroughfares in London, he pulled the
giant diamond out of his pocket and suddenly held it under the Jew's
nose.
"I told you I had them as big as hen's eggs," he cried. "What do you
think of this one?"
Isaacstein glanced at it for one fascinated second. Then he looked
around with the stealthy air of a man who fears lest he may be detected
in the commission of a terrible crime.
"Are you mad?" he whispered.
"No, not mad," answered Philip, coolly, as he pocketed the gem. "I only
wanted you to wobble."
"You wanted me to wobble!"
"Yes. You look so like a big top at times. When do we meet again, Mr.
Isaacstein?"
"You are not going away by yourself with that stone in your pocket?"
"Why not! It attracted no special notice from the people as I came here.
Nobody can smell it. It won't explode, nor burn a hole in my clothes. It
is quite safe, I assure you."
"But let me take it to Amsterdam. Boy! boy! It must weigh four hundred
carats!"
"Enough of business for to-day. I have a lot of things to attend to.
Shall we say Tuesday?"
"No. Wednesday at eleven. One word. Let me put it in my safe."
"Good-by."
Philip hailed a hansom and drove off to Ludgate Hill, smiling graciously
at Isaacstein as he whirled away.
The Jew swayed gently through the crowd until he reached the office,
when he dropped limply into his chair. Then he shouted for his
confidential clerk.
"Samuel," he murmured, "take charge, please. I'm going home. I want to
rest before I start for Harwich. And, Samuel!"
"Yes, sir."
"While I am away you might order another scales. In future we will sell
diamonds by the pound, like potatoes."