"Of course I do; I'm a man of my word," I answered him. "But there is a condition attaching to it, and that condition must be respected. I'm not the man to be played with, and I've got you in a tighter place than you think. Play with me, and you'll play with fire; of that I warn you."

"Now, look 'ere, guv'nor," answered the man in an altered tone, "am I likely to play any tricks, seein' 'ow I'm placed? Gents both, I give yer my solemn word I never meant to put the old gent's light out. I jist meant to git wot I could quietly. I 'ad a sort of idea that 'e might keep money on the premises. As it was, I got next to nuffink, an' wot I did git I don't dare part wiv, for fear I should be nabbed. I never thought 'e'd wake up, but w'en 'e come out there, an' tried to 'it me wiv the stick, I jist jerked it out of 'is 'and, an' gave 'im one for 'imself to keep 'im quiet. I ain't excusin' meself; I know I done it, an' that's all there is to it."

"In the first place, you will know me, if you know me at all, always as John New; the other man, once a fellow-prisoner of yours, lies buried in that prison. Am I right?" I asked the question sternly.

"I'll take my oath of it," he a.s.serted solemnly. "W'y, now I come to look at yer," he added, with a grin, "you ain't no more like Norton 'Yde than wot I am."

"Don't overdo it," I suggested. "Now, in the second place, you remember a young lady--a ward of Dr. Just?"

"Yus, I know 'er; wot of it?" he asked.

"She has left the doctor's house--has run away," I answered. "She doesn't know where to find me, and I don't know where to find her. She may be wandering about London friendless and without money. Can you help me to find her?"

"Do yer mean it?" he asked incredulously.

I nodded. "Under ordinary circ.u.mstances you are the last man in the world that I would select for such work, but I must use the tools ready to my hand," I said. "If you play tricks with me, you'll know what to expect, because our friend here"--I indicated Andrew--"will be only too ready to speak and to tell what he knows, without bringing me into the matter at all. But I think, for your own sake, you'll play the game fairly."

In his eagerness he began to take all manner of strange oaths as to what he meant to do, and as to the absolute dependence that was to be placed upon his word. I interrupted him sharply by telling him that I looked for deeds, and not words, and quite humbly and gratefully he promised to do all in his power. I gave him an address at which I could be found, and presently saw him go lurching away, with his head turned every now and then to look back at me. I seemed to picture him going through life like that, remembering always the dead thing he had left lying on certain stairs in a dismal old house.

And now I come to that point in my story when my own helplessness was, for a time at least, borne in upon me more strongly than ever. I had no very great hopes that where I had failed George Rabbit would succeed, and I blamed myself for having placed any reliance on him. I wandered about London restlessly for a day or two, as I had done before, hoping always that any slight girlish figure going on before me might in a moment turn its head and show me the face of Debora; but that never happened. What did happen was that I had an unexpected meeting with Bardolph Just.

The newspapers had, of course, given my address, as an important witness at the inquest on Uncle Zabdiel, so that I was not altogether surprised to find, one evening when I went back to my little lodging, tired out, and weary, and dispirited, that Bardolph Just was waiting for me. I was aware of his presence in my room before ever I got to the house, for as I came up the street I happened to raise my eyes to the window, and there he was, lounging half out of it, smoking a cigar and surveying me.

I wondered what his visit might portend. I hoped that he might have discovered something about Debora, and that I might get the information from him.

On opening the door of the room and going in I saw that he was not alone; Harvey Scoffold sat there, quite as though he had come, in a sense, as a protector for his patron. I put my back against the closed door, and looked from one man to the other, and waited for what they had to say. Harvey Scoffold smiled a little weakly, and waved a hand to me; Bardolph Just said nothing, but looked me up and down with a fine air of contempt. I judged that he had news for me, and that, for the moment at least, he felt that he had triumphed. Almost I seemed to read into his mind, and to know what that news was. But though I thought I knew the man well, I was not prepared for the vindictiveness he now displayed.

"You must excuse this intrusion," he said quietly, "but I felt sure that you would be anxious concerning my ward, and I thought it best to let you know at once that she is quite safe. I did you an injustice in suggesting that she was with you; for that I apologise most humbly."

"Where is she?" I asked.

He shrugged his shoulders. "Is it likely that I shall tell you?" he asked. "I won't tell you where she is; for your satisfaction, however, you may understand that you have been the cause of her pa.s.sing several miserable nights and days penniless in London----"

"You were the cause of that!" I broke in hotly.

"Pardon me; had you never appeared upon the scene she would have been quite content to remain under my care," he retorted.

"Had I never appeared upon the scene, she would before this have been in her grave," I said.

He showed his teeth for a moment in a grin, but said nothing to that.

"She was discovered in almost a dying condition. I was communicated with and went to her at once," he proceeded. "She is now in a private nursing home, and so soon as she has recovered I intend to take her abroad. I need not a.s.sure you that she is receiving, and will receive, every possible attention and luxury that money can command."

"And you came to tell me this?" I enquired bitterly.

"Out of pure kindness," he answered with a grin. "I knew you would be anxious, and I knew that you took a deep interest in the young lady." He rose to his feet, and carefully polished his hat upon his sleeve, holding the hat in his right hand, and turning it dexterously round and round against the arm he still carried in a sling. "But I came also to say," he went on in a sterner tone, "that with this ends your connection with her and with me. I am not to be trifled with again; keep out of my way."

"One moment, Dr. Just," I interposed, keeping my place before the door.

"As you have been so frank with me, it is fair that I should be as frank with you. I warn you that I shall take not the faintest notice of your request, and that I shall, if possible, discover the lady. My power is a greater one than yours, because my power is from the heart. I shall beat you yet; I shall save her yet!"

He laughed and raised his eyebrows, and turned towards Harvey Scoffold.

"Did you ever see such a fellow?" he asked. "He is as full of words as ever, although he knows that he can do nothing."

I opened the door, and saw the two men pa.s.s out and go down the street.

I watched them gloomily for a moment or two from the open window. I was almost in a mood to follow them, but I realised that they were scarcely likely to lead me to Debora. I must be patient; I must hope for a miracle to happen to show me the way to Debora.

After all, it was no miracle that happened, for one could scarcely connect a miracle with the prosaic figure of Andrew Ferkoe. As I looked from my window I saw Andrew coming down the street, reading a newspaper, and reading it so intently that he was continually knocking against people on the same pavement, and continually, as I could see, muttering apologies, and then resuming his reading. I was not best pleased to see him at that time; for although he still lodged with me until such time as I could decide what to do with him, he spent a great part of the day abroad in the streets. Now, however, after knocking at the door and being admitted, he came upstairs at a great rate, and burst into my room with the newspaper in his hand.

"I've found her!" he exclaimed, excitedly waving the paper. "I've found her!"

I s.n.a.t.c.hed the paper from him, and began to read it eagerly at the place where his trembling finger had pointed. The paragraph was headed, "Strange Loss of Memory," and referred to a young lady bearing the name of Debora Matchwick, who had been found in an almost unconscious condition from privation, on a seat in a public park, and had been conveyed to the Great Southern Hospital. For a time it had been impossible to discover who she was, as she appeared to have entirely forgotten any of the past events of her life, or even her own name; but at last she had given the name, and enquiries had elicited the fact that she had a guardian living in the neighbourhood of Highgate. This gentleman--the famous scientist and retired physician, Dr. Bardolph Just--had been communicated with, and had at once visited the young lady. So soon as she had recovered she would go abroad for rest and change. There seemed to be no doubt that she would ultimately recover completely.

I almost hugged Andrew Ferkoe in my delight. I laughed to think how easily the discovery had been made. I laughed also at the remembrance of how Dr. Just had spoken of the "private nursing home," and how now I was, after all, to take the wind out of his sails. I rushed off at once to the Great Southern Hospital.

Every sort of difficulty was placed in my way. It was not an ordinary visiting day, and I could not be admitted. The young lady had been placed in a private ward, it was true, but the regulations were very strict. More than that, it was imperative that she should not be excited in any way.

"I will not excite her; I am her greatest friend, and I know that she has been longing to see me," I pleaded.

"But she has a visitor with her now," the young doctor urged. "That visitor is her guardian."

I was now more than ever determined that I would see Debora; I pleaded again that one extra visitor, under the circ.u.mstances, could surely make no difference. "Besides," I added, "I know Dr. Just very well."

So at last I had my way, and I followed the young doctor through the quiet place until I came to the little private room where Debora lay--a room formed by raising walls nearly to the ceiling in a great ward, leaving a corridor down the centre. I went in, with my heart beating heavily; and the first person I faced was Dr. Just.

I never saw a man so astonished in all my life; I was afraid he was going to lose his presence of mind, and have me bundled out then and there, after making something of a scene. But I will do him the justice to say that his conduct was admirable; he accepted the inevitable, and bowed slightly in my direction as the doctor left me inside the little room and closed the door.

Then, for the first time, I saw Debora, lying white-faced among her pillows. I noted with grat.i.tude how her eyes lighted up as she turned slightly in my direction, and held out a white hand towards me. I could not help it; I fell on my knees beside the bed, and put the hand to my lips as the tears sprang to my eyes.

"Thank G.o.d!" I said, "thank G.o.d!"

"So you don't heed warnings," said the doctor, in a sarcastic tone. "It is only for the sake of this dear girl that I have not had you turned out of the place; I can't understand how in the world you found out where she was."

I took no notice of him. I turned to the girl, and, still holding her hands, began to speak earnestly.

"Debora," I said, "my sweet Debora, I want you to listen to me, and not to this man. I have found you, and I do not mean to lose sight of you again. You will soon be well and strong, and then you will go away from this place--with me."

"Yes, with you," she answered, with her eyes turned to mine, and her hands gripping mine convulsively. "With you!"

I knew that the time was short, and that at any moment the young doctor or a nurse might appear, and might cut short our interview. I saw, too, that Debora was getting excited, and I judged that Bardolph Just might take it upon himself to act the part of doctor as well as guardian, and have me turned away. Therefore I said what I had to say quickly.

"You will wait for me here, Debora; you will not let anyone take you away without letting me know. See, I am writing my address here, and that I will give to the doctor I saw just now--he can send for me if necessary. You are not to go away with anyone else."

"I promise," she said, weakly.

"And now listen to me," broke in the harsh voice of Bardolph Just. "This is a crisis in the lives of the three of us, and I am not to be set aside. When the time comes that you can be removed, Debora, you are going away with me!"

"I am not! I am not!" she cried, still clinging to my hand.

"You are going away with me, or else your friend there goes back to his prison. Choose!" He stood looking at her, and I saw as well as she did that now his mind was made up.