l. She cared for him.
She wanted his confidence, or at least so much of it as would allow her
to pour out upon him the tender sympathy with which her innocent heart
was overflowing. And he would have none of it. He wanted to treat her
like a beautiful doll, to be left in its cotton wool when his spirits
were too low for playthings, and to be taken out and admired when things
went better with him.

This was what Doreen mutinously thought and what her lips were on the
point of uttering, when the door was opened by Mr. Wedmore, who came
into the room with a copy of the _Evening Standard_ in his hand.

"Look here, Horne, did you see this?" said he, as he folded the paper
and handed it to Dudley. "Here's an odd thing. Of course it may be only
a coincidence. But doesn't it seem to refer to the rascal who ruined
your prospects--Edward Jacobs?"

"A middle-aged Jewish woman, who found some difficulty in making
herself understood, from an impediment in her speech, applied to
Mr. ----, of ---- Street Police Court, for advice in the following
circumstances: She and her husband had returned to England in
reduced circumstances, after a long residence abroad, and her
husband was in search of employment. He had received a letter from
Limehouse, offering him employment and giving him an appointment
for yesterday afternoon, which he started to keep. He had not
returned; she had been to Limehouse police station to make
inquiries, but could learn nothing of her husband. She seemed to be
under the impression that he had met with foul play, and made a
rambling statement to the effect that he had 'enemies.' It was only
after much persuasion, and the assurance that the press could not
help her without the knowledge, that she gave her name as Jacobs,
and her husband's first name as Edward. She described him as of the
middle height, thin, with gray hair and a short gray beard. The
magistrate said he had no doubt the press would do what they could
to help her, and the woman withdrew."

Dudley Horne read this account, and gave the paper back to Mr. Wedmore.

He tried to speak as he did so, but, though his mouth opened, the voice
refused to come.

CHAPTER V.

ONE MAN'S LOSS is ANOTHER MAN'S GAIN.

"Confound the Christmas tree!" grumbled Mr. Wedmore, as he stumbled over
a parcel of fluffy rabbits, whose heads screwed off to permit the
insertion of sweets.

"Oh, papa, you'll be saying 'Confound Christmas' next!"

And Doreen, wit