where dwelt and dealt one Isaacs, from whom he had, at various times, borrowed money on usury.  The name of Isaacs was over a bell, one of many at the door, and, when the bell was rung, the street door “opened of his own accord,” like that of the little tobacco-and-talk club which used to exist in an alley off Pall Mall.  Allen rang the bell, the outer door opened, and, as he was standing at the door of Isaacs’ chambers, before he had knocked, that portal also opened, and the office-boy, a young Jew, slunk cautiously out.  On seeing Allen, he had seemed at once surprised and alarmed.  Allen asked if his master was in; the lad answered “No” in a hesitating way; but on second thoughts, averred that Isaacs “would be back immediately,” and requested Allen to go in and wait.  He did so, but Isaacs never came, and Allen fell asleep.  He had a very distinct and singular dream, he said, of being in Messrs. Blocksy’s rooms, of handling the Longepierre, and of seeing Wentworth there, and Lord Tarras.  When he wakened he was very cold, and, of course, it was pitch dark.  He did not remember where he was; he lit a match and a candle on the chimney-piece.  Then slowly his memory came back to him, and not only his memory, but his consciousness of what he had wholly forgotten—­namely, that this was Saturday, the Sabbath of the Jews, and that there was not the faintest chance of Isaacs’ arrival at his place of business.  In the same moment the embarrassment and confusion of the young Israelite flashed vividly across his mind, and he saw that he was in a very awkward position.  If that fair Hebrew boy had been robbing, or trying to rob, the till, then Allen’s position was serious indeed, as here he was, alone, at an untimely hour, in the office.  So he blew the candle out, and went down the dingy stairs as quietly as possible, took the first cab he met, drove to Paddington, and went up to Oxford.

It is probable that the young child of Israel, if he had been attempting any mischief, did not succeed in it.  Had there been any trouble, it is likely enough that he would have involved Allen in the grief.  Then Allen would have been in a, perhaps, unprecedented position.  He could have established an alibi, as far as the Jew’s affairs went, by proving that he had been at Blocksby’s at the hour when the boy would truthfully have sworn that he had let him into Isaacs’ chambers.  And, as far as the charge against him at Blocksby’s went, the evidence of the young Jew would have gone to prove that he was at Isaacs’, where he had no business to be, when we saw him at Blocksby’s.  But, unhappily, each alibi would have been almost equally compromising.  The difficulty never arose, but the reason why Allen refused to give any account of what he had been doing, and where he had been, at four o’clock on that Saturday afternoon—­a refusal that told so heavily against him—­is now sufficiently clear.  His statement would, we may believe, never have been corroborated by the youthful Hebrew, who certainly had his own excellent reasons for silence, and who probably had carefully established an alibi of his own elsewhere.