y, thrust him aside; and, as he snatched the hideous-looking
object from Bob's hand, the glass jar fell upon the surgery floor, was
smashed to atoms, and a strong odour of methylated spirit filled the
place.

"You've done it now!" cried the boy piteously; and then he stared as
Mark dragged from his pocket a knife, and cut the string of what, in
place of an anatomical preparation, was a soaked and swollen
wash-leather bag.

"Look, Rich, look!" cried Mark, dropping the knife, his hands trembling
with excitement, and his voice so husky and changed that it was hardly
recognisable.

As he spoke, he thrust Rich back upon the settee, and, with one quick
motion, poured a couple of handfuls of rough diamonds into her lap.

"Mark!" she cried, as he sank upon his knees before her, and clasped her
hands; while, in his excitement, Hendon caught Janet in his arms, from
which she might have extricated herself a little more quickly than she
did.

"Now just look at that!" said Bob, picking up the bag, which had fallen
upon the floor. "Why, it's just like one o' them things as the doctor's
got saved up. I say," he continued excitedly, "lookye here, sir,
there's another one inside."

He drew out of the swollen leather bag a stone as big as a small marble,
and held it out.

"Yes; and that's yours, my boy," cried Mark excitedly; "whatever it
fetches shall be for you."

"What! my own?" cried Bob.

"Yes--yes!"

"To do what I like with, sir?"

"Well, it shall be applied for your benefit, my lad."

"Then I wants some on it now!" cried the boy excitedly.

"What for?" said Rich.

"To get my old ooman home."

"And I want one, Mark," cried Hendon.

"Yes," said Mark; "to pay James Poynter's debt."

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

KNOTTING UP LOOSE THREADS.

It had been the doctor's last act before he admitted his assailants. As
if inspired by a fear that his patient's excited utterances might be
true, and urged by the risk of leaving so valuable a treasure
unprotected, he had taken the bag, and slipped it in a place not likely
to be examined, though he never recovered sufficiently to recall what he
had done.

As to the two men who had visited the surgery that night, by a strange
want of scent on the part of the sleuth-hounds of the law they were
never found; one reason being that, with the cash they found in the belt
Mark Heath wore, they had made their way back to the Cape.

The house in Ramillies Street remained unchanged i