The lawyer then rolled up a sheet of stiff note paper from his bag into funnel shape, pinned it so, and made a tiny hole in the wall paper of the other room.

Fitting the small end of his funnel to the hole, he commanded a perfect view of the next room.

He was surprised, too, to find how it improved the sight looking through the tube—it was like a telescope, it seemed to bring things so near.

With the framed text hanging on its hook again, there was not the slightest suspicious thing about the room, and when his chop came up, everything was finished.

Soon after his dinner things were cleared away, Gerald returned.

The lawyer had not troubled to enter the adjoining chamber; the fact that it had been left unlocked convinced him that his man carried the notes on his person.

And he did at that stage, for he had just returned from his interview with the dentist.

With locked door, and eye to his funnel, Loide watched.

He was seized with a frenzy as he saw Gerald take the notes from an envelope, and count them one by one—nineteen of them.

Had the look on the lawyer's face been seen by Gerald, that gentleman would not have hummed so blithely and looked so happy.

Gerald put the notes in his breast pocket, and pinned the top of it up—he was taking great care of them.

Loide had made up his mind to get those notes. He rather fancied that he would get them that night.

He generally got what he laid himself out to get. He was not a man to stick at trifles.

Presently Gerald drew from his pocket and opened a little box.

Loide knew what it was—he had seen them in a shop window.

A small alarm with points to be pressed into the floor, so that when the door it lay against was pushed—the lawyer's hope of getting possession of the notes that night received a rude shock.

The moment Gerald had swallowed his meal he went out again. He came back within an hour, and once more the lawyer's eye was busy.

Gerald took a ticket from his pocket and put it on the mantelpiece. To the girl who was dusting the room he said:

"Tell Mrs. Parkes I am leaving to-morrow morning; ask her to have my bill made out, including the morning's breakfast."

The watcher strained his eyes, and ultimately read the ticket on the mantel board.

It was a second class passage on the American liner Cascaria.

Loide heard Gerald order tea for six o'clock, and then putting on his hat and breathing a prayer of thankfulness that it was raining—the devil helps his children—he went downstairs and out into the street.

Had Gerald been looking out of the window he would only have seen an umbrella leaving the house—the man beneath was effectually concealed by it.

Loide entered the nearest news agent's shop, and bought the morning paper. Looking down the shipping advertisements, he found to which line the Cascaria belonged, and took a cab to the company's head office.

The passenger list was open to inspection. Gerald had booked in his own name.

To the lawyer's chagrin, the whole cabin had been booked. What had looked an easy road, now showed a stumbling block.

He had counted on sharing that cabin. He had shared one once before, and the performance therein had been—in a measure—a success.

He had looked to a repetition of it—it had been so easy.

He booked—booked, too, a cabin to himself as Gerald had done. He reflected that there were contingencies likely to arise when his sole occupancy of the cabin might be advantageous.

He hoped to secure the notes without risk. He quite recognized the danger attending the luring of Gerald into his own cabin, and then—besides, perhaps he wouldn't be lured; he might turn a deaf ear to the charmer, charm he never so wisely.

Loide purchased a box of cigars to smoke on the steamer. Then he went into a chemist's and bought a tiny hypo syringe, and a certain drug, the potency of which was known to him.

He rather prided himself on his general knowledge—he was a well read man. His reading was now serving him a good turn.

With that syringe he would inject the drug into one of the cigars—there was no knowing when such a thing might prove useful.

He entered the house at ten minutes past six.

He reflected that Gerald would not be through with his tea in ten minutes, and that there was little likelihood of a meeting on the stairs—he was right; he reached his own room in safety.

Nothing happened that night. The next morning he watched Gerald packing.

He saw by the way he packed his portmanteau that the money was not to be placed in it.

Presently Gerald called out to his landlady for a needle and thread.

The watcher saw him put the notes in the envelopes, then wrap them in brown paper and tie the packet with a piece of white grocer's twine.

The packet lay on the table, and the shape and size thereof were easily seen.

Then the lining of the vest was ripped, the packet pushed in, and the lining sewn down again with the needle and black thread.

Loide made a mental note of further things he needed for the voyage.

Item: needle and black thread; item: brown paper and white twine.

The articles went on board with him in the shape of a parcel—a duplicate of Gerald's.

He guessed the train Gerald would go by, and resolved to travel by it himself.

He did not want to let his man out of his sight more than was absolutely necessary.

Within four minutes of Gerald's departure, Loide left, and a cab took him to the station.

He was in the train first, and, unseen himself, watched Gerald enter. So on to the boat.

He played his cards well, and during the voyage he and Gerald became close acquaintances.

With his syringe and drug, Loide had doctored his cigars. They rested in his case for use when the occasion arose.

One night on deck the conversation turned on moon blindness, and Loide testified to its effects. If the picture he drew of its results lacked truth, it was at least original, and he had a manner which was convincing.

He concluded the conversation by handing Gerald a cigar and saying, "Good-night," and left him to smoke it.

He came back within three minutes. He had watched from a shadowed portion of the boat, and seen the cigar drop from the smoker's mouth and roll on the deck.

Loide picked it up and threw it overboard—it had served its purpose.

He helped Gerald to his feet, and in a dazed, unseeing way, the drugged man was helped to his cabin. There he sank on his bunk unconscious.

Loide turned on the electric light and fastened the door. He did nothing hurriedly; he knew just how long the effects of the drug would last—he had plenty of time.

Undoing the coat and vest, he ripped out the stitches which held in the notes.

He put the packet in his pocket, and replaced it by another similar in shape and size.

Then very carefully he sewed up the vest again with a needle and thread he had about him, buttoned up the coat, turned off the light, and found his way to his own cabin.

There he undid the parcel. His eyes glistened.

Nineteen crackling pieces of paper worth a thousand pounds each!

He rolled and pressed them together till they formed a very small ball, and then he took off his clubfoot boot. The thick clump was for lightness—hollow.

By lifting the inner soles he had been able to put his finger into the hollow—now he put the notes.

With the contents of a penny bottle of liquid glue he glued down the leathers he had raised, one by one, and then left the thing to be dry by the morning—which it was, solidly dry.

Brown paper, envelopes, string, needle, thread, glue were all cast from a port-hole into the sea.

From a bottle he had with him he took a deep drink of brandy—he thought he had earned it.

Then he undressed, carefully fastened his door, turned off the light, and prepared for the earliest night's rest he had had for many a day.

Next morning Gerald woke with a headache—he said nothing of what was not quite clear to him—his finding himself in his bunk with his clothes on.

His first waking movement was to grip and look at his vest—all was secure.

He had not feared anything otherwise, but it was the first night he had slept with his door unlocked.

Still he had the vest on, and after all, he reflected—with a smile—that was the safest place. No one could possibly have tampered with it without his knowing the fact.

And he smiled again.