perplexities; he
remembered that he knew a jeweller, one B. Macculloch, in Edinburgh, who
would be glad to put him in the way of the necessary training; a few
months, perhaps a few years, of sordid toil, and he would be
sufficiently expert to divide and sufficiently cunning to dispose with
advantage of the Rajah's Diamond. That done, he might return to pursue
his researches at leisure, a wealthy and luxurious student, envied and
respected by all. Golden visions attended him through his slumber, and
he awoke refreshed and light-hearted with the morning sun.

Mr. Raeburn's house was on that day to be closed by the police, and this
afforded a pretext for his departure. He cheerfully prepared his
baggage, transported it to King's Cross, where he left it in the
cloak-room, and returned to the club to while away the afternoon and
dine.

"If you dine here to-day, Rolles," observed an acquaintance, "you may
see two of the most remarkable men in England--Prince Florizel of
Bohemia, and old Jack Vandeleur."

"I have heard of the Prince," replied Mr. Rolles; "and General Vandeleur
I have even met in society."

"General Vandeleur is an ass!" returned the other. "This is his brother
John, the biggest adventurer, the best judge of precious stones, and one
of the most acute diplomatists in Europe. Have you never heard of his
duel with the Duc de Val d'Orge? of his exploits and atrocities when he
was Dictator of Paraguay? of his dexterity in recovering Sir Samuel
Levi's jewellery? nor of his services in the Indian Mutiny--services by
which the Government profited, but which the Government dared not
recognise? You make me wonder what we mean by fame, or even by infamy;
for Jack Vandeleur has prodigious claims to both. Run down-stairs," he
continued, "take a table near them, and keep your ears open. You will
hear some strange talk, or I am much misled."

"But how shall I know them?" inquired the clergyman.

"Know them!" cried his friend; "why, the Prince is the finest gentleman
in Europe, the only living creature who looks like a king; and as for
Jack Vandeleur, if you can imagine Ulysses at seventy years of age, and
with a sabre-cut across his face, you have the man before you! Know
them, indeed! Why, you could pick either of them out of a Derby day!"

Rolles eagerly hurried to the dining-room. It was as his friend had
asserted; it was impossible to mistake the pair in question. Old John
Vandeleur was of a remarkable force of bo