“You will doubtless be surprised on perusing this affectionate note.  I know you, of course.  I also know why you are here.  When I met you today I at once knew it was all up with me unless I could outgeneral you—­and I think I have.  Part of the money you seek you will find in the bureau drawer.  You are welcome to it.  I have carried it around a year, and have not been able to buy so much as a cigar with it.  Possibly you may be able to convince the bank that you are not one of the men who stole it.  But, in return for making you so liberal a bequest, I have possessed myself of your watch and pocketbook.  I trust that this will not distress you.  My financial condition made it a necessity.  I kindly fixed your wine last night in order to give you a good night’s rest.  When you arrest me be sure you have the needed papers.  Good-by.

“James Thurston, alias Thorne.”

Worth at once drew out the drawer of the bureau and found at its further end a package securely wrapped in brown paper; but fearing there still might be deception, opened it, and sure enough, he counted fifty one-thousand-pound Bank of England notes.  Securely tying them together, he placed them in the secret pocket which had been so recently rifled, and started to go downstairs, but found that the porter was right, he was locked in his room.  After thumping at the door, without success, he remembered seeing a bell, which he rang lustily.  After a few minutes a youth came to the door and turned the key.  Worth, thus released, hastened down to discover that it was eleven o’clock in the forenoon.  Within two hours a warrant for the arrest of James Thurston, alias James Thorne, was issued with a description of the watch and the amount of money stolen.  A notice of reward was also issued and appeared at once in the newspapers.  A general alarm was sent out by the Police Department, the railroad stations and steamboat landings were vigilantly watched, but without any results.  Thorne had gotten away while Worth was asleep.

Fortunately, before leaving home Worth had sewed in the lining of his coat a sum of money as a reserve fund.  This had not been discovered, but for which fact he would have found himself penniless in a strange land, with only his silver star as the insignia of his identity.

CHAPTER VII

“Mice and men Gang aft A-gley”

The return of Job Worth to London was not at all joyous.  He sat upon the deck in his ship chair or lay in his bunk drawing darkest pictures of his defeat, as he called it.  Nor was there any elation in his feelings when, upon his arrival at the bank, the cashier handed him a check for three thousand pounds, as a reward for the restoration of the fifty thousand pounds.  Yes, it was something to be sure; yet not much.  There was chagrin in it all, and he continually felt this, as he mingled with his colleagues.  To him