Missing Fortune_

The name of the late Lord Chizelrigg never comes to my mind without
instantly suggesting that of Mr. T.A. Edison. I never saw the late Lord
Chizelrigg, and I have met Mr. Edison only twice in my life, yet the
two men are linked in my memory, and it was a remark the latter once
made that in great measure enabled me to solve the mystery which the
former had wrapped round his actions.

There is no memorandum at hand to tell me the year in which those two
meetings with Edison took place. I received a note from the Italian
Ambassador in Paris requesting me to wait upon him at the Embassy. I
learned that on the next day a deputation was to set out from the
Embassy to one of the chief hotels, there to make a call in state upon
the great American inventor, and formally present to him various
insignia accompanying certain honours which the King of Italy had
conferred upon him. As many Italian nobles of high rank had been
invited, and as these dignitaries would not only be robed in the
costumes pertaining to their orders, but in many cases would wear
jewels of almost inestimable value, my presence was desired in the
belief that I might perhaps be able to ward off any attempt on the
part of the deft-handed gentry who might possibly make an effort to
gain these treasures, and I may add, with perhaps some little
self-gratification, no _contretemps_ occurred.

Mr. Edison, of course, had long before received notification of the
hour at which the deputation would wait upon him, but when we entered
the large parlour assigned to the inventor, it was evident to me at a
glance that the celebrated man had forgotten all about the function.
He stood by a bare table, from which the cloth had been jerked and
flung into a corner, and upon that table were placed several bits of
black and greasy machinery--cog wheels, pulleys, bolts, etc. These
seemingly belonged to a French workman who stood on the other side of
the table, with one of the parts in his grimy hand. Edison's own hands
were not too clean, for he had palpably been examining the material,
and conversing with the workman, who wore the ordinary long blouse of
an iron craftsman in a small way. I judged him to be a man with a
little shop of his own in some back street, who did odd jobs of
engineering, assisted perhaps by a skilled helper or two, and a few
apprentices. Edison looked sternly towards the door as the solemn
procession filed in, and there was a trace of a