that'll go round
his neck."

The old man looked doubtful.

"If he's such a learned, clever man as you say--writes books and such
like--they'll never hang him, my son. They'll reprieve him. That's what
they'll do."

"I don't care a blooming fig which it is, so long as it comes off. Do
you remember what I told you when Miss Thurwell first came here, dad?"

"Perfectly, my son, perfectly. You said that our fortune was made. Those
were your very words," he added, with glistening eyes. "Our fortune is
made."

"And what I said I'll stick to," Mr. Benjamin declared. "When this case
comes off, it'll be the biggest thundering sensation of the day. And
who'll get the credit of it all? Who tracked him down for all his false
name and sly ways; hunted him all over Europe, found out who he really
was, and why he hated Sir Geoffrey Kynaston so much that he murdered
him? Why, I did, dad--Benjamin Levy, of Levy & Son, Carle Street,
Strand. Ain't it glorious, guv'nor? Ain't it proud?"

Mr. Benjamin's enthusiasm was catching. It was reflected in his father's
face, and something glistened in his eyes. He removed his spectacles,
and carefully wiped them. After all, he was a father, and he had a
father's feelings.

"When will the time come, Benjamin?" he inquired.

"A month to-day, I hope," was the prompt reply. "I have one more
journey to take, and it will be all square."

"Where to? How far?" inquired the old gentleman uneasily.

Mr. Benjamin looked at him, and shook his head. "Come, dad, I know what
you are thinking of," he said. "It's the expense, ain't it?"

"It is, Benjamin," his father groaned. "I hate parting with hard-earned
money for exorbitant bills and these long journeys. Couldn't it be done
without it, Ben?" he inquired, in a wheedling tone. "There's piles of
money gone already in expenses. Piles and piles."

"And if there is, ain't it Miss Thurwell's, you old stupid?" remarked
Mr. Benjamin. "'Tain't likely that we should find the money ourselves."

"Of course, of course. But, Benjamin, my son, the money is thrown away
for all that. We could charge it, you know--charge it always. We must
have a margin--we must positively have a margin to work with."

"Dad, dad, what an old sinner you are!" exclaimed his hopeful son,
leaning back in his chair and laughing. "A margin to work with. Ha! ha!
ha!"

Mr. Levy looked uncertain whether to regard his son's merriment as a
compliment, or to resent it. Eventually, the form