"A glass of beer," threw Elkin over his shoulder. He had walked to the window, and was gazing moodily at the sign of the "plumber and decorator" who had taken Siddle's shop. The village could not really support an out-and-out chemist, so a local grocer had elected to stock patent medicines as a side line.
Tomlin made play with a beer-pump.
"Where's yer own?" inquired Hobbs hospitably.
Elkin came and drank. After an interlude, Tomlin ran a finger down a column of the newspaper.
"By the way, Fred, didn't you tell me about that funny little chap, Furno, the 'tec, buyin' some pictures of yours?" he said.
"I did. Had him there, anyhow," chuckled Elkin.
"How much did you stick 'im for?"
"Three guineas."
"They can't ha' bin this lot, then, though I've a notion it wur the same name, 'Aylesbury Steeplechase.'"
"What are you talking about?"
"This."
Tomlin turned the paper, and Elkin read:
At their monthly art sale on Wednesday Messrs. Brown, Jenkins and Brown disposed of an almost unique set of colored prints, by F. Smyth, dated 1841. The series of six represented various phases of the long defunct Aylesbury Steeplechase, "The Start," "The Brook," "The In-and-Out," and so on to "The Finish." It is understood that this notable series, produced during the best period of the art, and at the very zenith of Smyth's fame, were acquired recently by a Sussex amateur at a low price. Bidding began at fifty guineas, and rose quickly to one hundred and twenty, at which figure Messrs. Carnioli and Bruschi became the owners.
Elkin read the paragraph twice, until the words burnt into his brain.
"No," he said thickly. "They're not mine. No such luck!"
Number Seventeen
CHAPTER I THE OUTCOME OF ARTISTIC CURIOSITY
CHAPTER IV A TELEPHONIC TALK AND ITS CONSEQUENCES
CHAPTER VII WHEREIN MR. FORBES EXPLAINS HIMSELF
CHAPTER VIII THE FIRST COUNTER-STROKE
CHAPTER X CAPTURES ON BOTH SIDES
CHAPTER XI THE REAPPEARANCE OF HANDYSIDE
CHAPTER XIII SOME NEW MOVES IN THE GAME
CHAPTER XIV WHEREIN THEYDON SUFFERS FROM FAINT HEART
CHAPTER XVI WHEREIN UNEXPECTED ALLIES APPEAR
CHAPTER I
THE OUTCOME OF ARTISTIC CURIOSITY
"Taxi, sir? Yes, sir. No. 4 will be yours."
A red-faced, loud-breathing commissionaire, engaged in the lucrative task of pocketing sixpences as quickly as he could summon cabs, vanished in a swirl of macintoshes and umbrellas.
People who had arrived at the theater in fine weather were emerging into a drizzle of rain. "All London," as the phrase goes, was flocking to see the latest musical comedy at Daly's, but all London, regarded thus collectively, is far from owning motor cars, or even affording taxicabs, so the majority of the play-goers were hurrying on foot towards tube railways and omnibus routes.
Still, a popular light opera could hardly fail to draw many patrons from the upper ranks of society, and, in the crush at the main exit, Francis Berrold Theydon, hesitating whether to walk or wait the hazard of a cab, deemed himself fortunate when a panting commissionaire promised to secure a taxi "in half a minute."
Automobiles of every known variety were snorting up to the curb and bustling off again as promptly as their users could enter and bestow themselves in dim interiors. Being a considerate person—wishful also to light a cigarette—Theydon moved out of the way. In so doing, he was cannoned against by an impetuous footman, whose cry, "Your car, sir," led him to follow the man's alert eyes.
He saw a tall, elderly gentleman, with clean-shaven, shrewd, and highly intelligent features, of the type which finance, or the law, or a combination of both, seems to evolve only in big cities, escorting a young lady from the vestibule. Then Theydon remembered that he had noticed this self-same girl's remarkable beauty as she was silhouetted in white against the dark background of a first-tier box. He had even speculated idly as to her identity, and had come to the conclusion, on catching her face in profile, that she must be the daughter of the man seated by her side but half-hidden behind a heavy curtain.
The likeness was momentarily lost now while the two neared him, yet discovered anew when they halted for a second at his elbow. Oddly enough, the man was carrying an umbrella, which he proceeded to open, and his daughter's astonished question put their relationship beyond doubt.
"Dad," she said, with a charming smile in which there was just a hint of a pout, "aren't you coming home with me?"
"No. I must look in at the Constitutional Club. It's only a step. I'll take no harm. This sleet looks worse than it is when every drop shines in the glare of so many lamps. Now, in with you, Evelyn! Tell Downs to come back, and don't forget which club. Anyhow, I'll tell him myself."
"Shall I wait up for you?"
"Well—er—I shan't be late. I'll be free by the time Downs returns."
"No. 4 taxi!" came a voice, and Theydon saw his commissionaire perched on the step of a cab swinging in deftly behind the waiting car. The girl, gazing at her father, happened to look for an instant at Theydon, who, fearful lest his candidly admiring glance might have been a trifle too sustained, pretended a hurried interest in an unlighted cigarette. That was all. The three crossed the pavement almost simultaneously.
The next moment the unknown goddess was gone, though Theydon snatched a final glimpse of her, faintly visible, yet no less radiantly