If he had looked at her at that moment he would have seen in her eyes a touching look of sympathy and distress.  The girl knew that something had been amiss with him—­that something was amiss still.  She cared for him.  She wanted his confidence, or at least so much of it as would allow her to pour out upon him the tender sympathy with which her innocent heart was overflowing.  And he would have none of it.  He wanted to treat her like a beautiful doll, to be left in its cotton wool when his spirits were too low for playthings, and to be taken out and admired when things went better with him.

This was what Doreen mutinously thought and what her lips were on the point of uttering, when the door was opened by Mr. Wedmore, who came into the room with a copy of the Evening Standard in his hand.

“Look here, Horne, did you see this?” said he, as he folded the paper and handed it to Dudley.  “Here’s an odd thing.  Of course it may be only a coincidence.  But doesn’t it seem to refer to the rascal who ruined your prospects—­Edward Jacobs?”

“A middle-aged Jewish woman, who found some difficulty in making herself understood, from an impediment in her speech, applied to Mr. ——­, of ——­ Street Police Court, for advice in the following circumstances:  She and her husband had returned to England in reduced circumstances, after a long residence abroad, and her husband was in search of employment.  He had received a letter from Limehouse, offering him employment and giving him an appointment for yesterday afternoon, which he started to keep.  He had not returned; she had been to Limehouse police station to make inquiries, but could learn nothing of her husband.  She seemed to be under the impression that he had met with foul play, and made a rambling statement to the effect that he had ‘enemies.’  It was only after much persuasion, and the assurance that the press could not help her without the knowledge, that she gave her name as Jacobs, and her husband’s first name as Edward.  She described him as of the middle height, thin, with gray hair and a short gray beard.  The magistrate said he had no doubt the press would do what they could to help her, and the woman withdrew.”

Dudley Horne read this account, and gave the paper back to Mr. Wedmore.

He tried to speak as he did so, but, though his mouth opened, the voice refused to come.

CHAPTER V.

One man’s Loss is another man’s Gain.

“Confound the Christmas tree!” grumbled Mr. Wedmore, as he stumbled over a parcel of fluffy rabbits, whose heads screwed off to permit the insertion of sweets.

“Oh, papa, you’ll be saying ‘Confound Christmas’ next!”

And Doreen, with one watchful eye on Dudley all the time, made a lane through her boxes and her hampers to admit the passage of her father to a chair.

By this time Dudley had recovered himself a little, and was able to answer the question Mr. Wedmore now put to him.