“But you will be paid.  We are saving money; we cannot put by all we earn—­we must live.”

“I will be paid now; if I am not, you are to blame for the consequences.”

And with a courtly salute the Jew passed on.  Now Gregorio had not forgotten his debt, nor the Jew’s threats, and he fully intended to pay what he owed.  But of course it would take time, and the man was too impatient.  He realised he had been foolish not to pay something on account; but it hurt him to part with gold.  He determined, however, to send Amos something when he returned home.  So good a watch had been kept, he never doubted the child’s safety.  But it would be awkward if Amos got him put in jail.  So he reckoned up how much he could afford to pay, and, having bought the toy, returned eagerly home.  He ran upstairs, singing a barcarole at the top of his voice, and rushed into the room, waving the model ship above his head.  “See here,” he cried, “is the ship!  I have not forgotten it.”  But his shout fell to a whisper.  The room was empty.

With a heartbroken sob the man fell swooning on the floor.

IX—­A DISCOVERY AND A CONSPIRACY

For long he lay stretched out upon the floor in a state of half-consciousness.  He could hear the mosquitos buzzing about his face, he could hear, too, the sounds of life rise up from the street below; but he was able to move neither arm nor leg, and his head seemed fastened to the floor by immovable leaden weights.  That his son was lost was all he understood.

How long he lay there he scarcely knew, but it seemed to him weeks.  At last he heard footsteps on the stairs.  He endeavoured vainly to raise himself, and, though he strove to cry out, his tongue refused to frame the words.  Lying there, living and yet lifeless, he saw the door open and Amos enter.  The old man hesitated a moment, for the room was dark, while Gregorio, who had easily recognised his visitor, lay impotent on the floor.  Before Amos could become used to the darkness the door again opened, and Madam Marx entered with a lamp in her hand.  Amos turned to see who had followed him, and, in turning, his foot struck against Gregorio’s body.  Immediately, the woman crying softly, both visitors knelt beside the sick man.  A fierce look blazed in Gregorio’s eyes, but the strong words of abuse that hurried through his brain would not be said.

“He is very ill,” said Amos; “he has had a stroke of some sort.”

“Help me to carry him to my house,” sobbed the woman, and she kissed the Greek’s quivering lip and pallid brow.  Then rising to her feet, she turned savagely on the Jew.

“It is your fault.  It is you who have killed him.”

“Nay, madam; I had called here for my money, and I had a right to do so.  It has been owing for a long time.”

“No; you have killed him.”

“Indeed, I wished him well.  I was willing to forgive the debt if he would let me take the child.”