"You see, Jesson," the latter had argued, "I'll never get my money back. It's gone as completely as if I'd burnt it! All I've got to hope for is a peerage; and I'd lose that if I started crying."
"I agree," Antony Elschild had contributed, "Rohscheimer had suddenly become a popular hero! So that a title is all the return he is ever likely to get for his money. It is popularly expected that Hohsmann and yourself will also subscribe. You must remember that owing to the attitude of a section of the Press it is not generally believed that Séverac Bablon has anything to do with this burst of generosity!"
Jesson had muttered something about "the Gleaner," and a decision had been arrived at to organise a private campaign against Séverac Bablon whilst professing, publicly, that he was in no way concerned in the swelling of the Gleaner fund.
Now, Jesson and Hohsmann had both sent huge cheques to the paper, and interviews with the philanthropic and patriotic capitalists appeared upon the front page. Sheard had not done either interview.
Encouraged by their amazing donations, the general public was responding in an unheard-of manner to the Gleaner's appeal. The Marquess of Evershed had contributed a long personal letter, which was reproduced in the centre of the first page of every issue. The Imperialistic spirit ran rampant throughout Great Britain.
Meanwhile, Mr. Oppner's detectives were everywhere. Inspector Sheffield, C.I.D., was not idle. And Sheard found his position at times a dangerous one.
He stood up, walked to the grate, and knocked out his pipe. Having refilled and lighted it, he tiptoed upstairs, and from a convenient window surveyed the empty road. So far as he could judge, its emptiness was real enough. Yet on looking out a quarter of an hour earlier, he had detected, or thought he had detected, a lurking form under the trees some hundred yards beyond his gate.
His visit to the Astoria, the morning before, had been in response to an invitation from Séverac Bablon, but divining that he was closely watched, he had sent the message to Gale—an American friend whom he knew to have just arrived—which had fallen into the hands of Mr. Aloys. X. Alden. Sheard had actually had an appointment with Gale, and had rung him up later in the morning—gaining confirmation of his suspicions, in the form of Gale's story of the empty envelope.
Then, at night, his American friend had been followed to the house and followed back again to the hotel. This had been merely humorous; but to-night there existed more real cause of apprehension. Sheard had received a plain correspondence card, bearing the following, in a small neat hand:
"Do not bolt your front door. Expect me at about one o'clock A.M."