iage. And now, if you please,
we will go and see Mr. Gessner. He is a Pole, Mr. Kennedy, and one of
the richest men in London to-day."

CHAPTER VII

THE HOUSE OF THE FIVE GABLES

It was six o'clock as the carriage passed Swiss Cottage station and ten
minutes later when they had climbed the stiff hill to the Heath. Alban
had not often ridden in a carriage, but he would have found his
sensations very difficult to set down. The glossy cushions, the fine
ivory and silver fittings, were ornaments to be touched with caressing
fingers as one touches the coat of a beautiful animal or the ripe bloom
upon fruit. Just to loll back in such a vehicle, to watch the houses and
the people and the streets, was an experience he had not hitherto
imagined. The smooth motion was a delight to him. He felt that he could
continue such a journey to the ends of the earth, resting at his ease,
untroubled by those never ended questions upon which poverty insisted.

"Is it far yet, sir--is Mr. Gessner's house a long way off?"

He asked the question as one who desired an affirmative reply. The
parson, however, believed that his charge was already wearied; and he
said eagerly:

"It is just over there between the trees, my lad. We shall be with our
good friend in five minutes now. Perhaps you know that you are on
Hampstead Heath?"

"I came here once with little Lois Boriskoff--on a Bank Holiday. It was
not like this then. If Mr. Gessner is rich, why does he live in a place
where people come to keep Bank Holiday? I should have thought he would
have got away from them."

"He is not able to get away. His business takes him into town every
day--he goes by motor-car and comes back at night to breathe pure air.
Bank Holidays do not occur every day, Mr. Kennedy. Fortunately for some
of us they are but four a year."

"Of course you don't like going amongst all those poor people, Mr.
Geary. That's natural. I didn't until I had to, and then I found them
much the same as the rest. You haven't any poor in Hampstead, I am
told."

Mr. Geary fell into the trap all unsuspectingly.

"Thank heaven"--he began, and then checking himself clumsily, he added,
"that is to say we are comparatively well off as neighborhoods go. Our
people are not idlers, however. Some of the foremost manufacturers in
the country live in Hampstead."

"While their work-people starve in Whitechapel. It's an odd world, isn't
it, Mr. Geary--and I don't suppose we shall ever