gering in
his ears, he hurried out into the street.

CHAPTER XXV

MR. LEVY, JUNIOR, GOES ON THE CONTINENT

Mr. Benjamin Levy was standing in his favorite position before the
office fireplace, with his legs a little apart, and his small keen eyes
fixed upon vacancy. It was thus, in that very pose, and on that very
hearthrug, that he had thought out more than one of those deep-laid
schemes which had brought a certain measure of notoriety to the firm of
which he was a shining light, and at that very moment he was engaged in
deep consideration concerning the case in which his energies were at
present absorbed.

A few feet away, his father was carefully calculating, with the aid of a
ready reckoner, the compound interest on a little pile of bills of
exchange which lay before him. Every now and then he paused, and,
looking up from his task, glanced cautiously into his son's perplexed
face. Curiosity at length culminated in speech.

"What was you thinking, Benjamin, my son?" he said softly. "The Miss
Thurwell case is plain before us, is it not? There is nothing fresh, is
there? No fresh business, eh, my son?"

Mr. Benjamin started, and abandoned his reflections.

"No; nothing fresh, dad. It was the Thurwell affair I was thinking of.
Give me the keys, will you?"

Mr. Levy leaned back in his chair and produced from his trousers pocket
a jingling bunch of keys.

Mr. Benjamin took them in thoughtful silence, and, opening the safe,
drew out a packet of faded letters tied up with ribbon. From these he
selected one, and carefully replaced the rest.

"Those letters again," remarked his fond parent, chuckling. "Take care
of them, Benjamin, take care of them. They was worth their weight in
gold to us."

"They're worth a great deal more than that," remarked Mr. Benjamin
carelessly. "There's only one thing, dad, that puzzles me a bit."

"It must be a rum thing, my boy, that does that," his fond parent
remarked admiringly. "I never praise undeservedly, but I must say this,
Benjamin, you've managed this Thurwell affair marvelously--marvelously!
Come, let me see what it is that is too deep for you."

He rose and looked over his son's shoulder at the letter which he was
reading--one thin sheet of foreign note paper, covered with closely
written lines of faint, angular writing, and emitting even now a
delicate musky scent.

"What is it, Benjamin--what is it?"

His son laid his finger on a sentence toward the close o