“Yet last night he was arrested attempting to break into General Craven's house in Mortimer Square.”
Todmarsh blew his nose vigorously. His voice was distinctly shaky as he broke off. His uncle glanced at him sympathetically.
“You must not take it too much to heart, my dear Aubrey. Think of your many successes, and even in this case that seems so terrible I feel sure that your labour has not really been wasted. You have cast your bread upon the waters, and you will assuredly find it again. You are fighting against the forces of the arch-enemy, remember.”
“We are fighting against a gang of criminals,” Aubrey said shortly. “We hear of them every now and then in our work. The Yellow Gang they call them in the underworld—they form regular organizations of their own, working on a system, and appear to carry out the orders of one man. Sometimes I think he is the arch-fiend himself, for it seems impossible to circumvent him.”
“But who is he?” the rector inquired innocently.
Aubrey Todmarsh permitted himself a slight smile.
“If we knew that, my dear uncle, it wouldn't be long before this wave of crime that is sweeping over the Metropolis was checked. But I have heard that even the rank and file of his own followers do not know who he is, though he is spoken of sometimes as the Yellow Dog. Anyway, he has a genius for organization. But now we must think of something more cheerful, Uncle James. I want you to see our refectory and the recreation rooms, and our little rooms, cells, kitchens. Through here”—throwing open a glass door—“we go to our playground as you see.”
Mr. Collyer peered forth. In front of him was a wide, open space, partly grass, partly concrete. On the grass a game of cricket was proceeding, the players being youths apparently all under twenty. On the concrete older men were having a game at racquets. All round the open space at the foot of the high wall that surrounded the Community grounds there ran a flower border, just now gay with crocuses and great clumps of arabis—white and purple and gold. The walls themselves were covered with creepers that later on would blossom into sweetness. Here and there men were at work. It was a pleasant and a peaceful scene and the Rev. James Collyer's eyes rested on it approvingly.
“There are always some of us at play,” Aubrey smiled. “These men have been on night work—porters, etc. You know we undertake all sorts of things and our record is such—we have never had a case of our trust being betrayed—that our men are in constant request.”
“I do not wonder,” his uncle said cordially. “It is—I must say it again, Aubrey—wonderful work that you are carrying on. Now what have these men been before they came to you?”