Free The Victorian Villains Megapack by R. Austin Freeman, Arthur Morrison, John J. Pitcairn, Christopher B. Booth, Arthur Train Page A

of malt. There was a nice schoolboy tale to take in a man who thought himself broad as Cheapside! He cursed himself high and low. To be done, and to know it, was a galling thing, but this would be worse. The tale would get about. They would boast of a clever stroke like that, and that would injure him with everybody; with honest men, because his reputation, as it was, would bear no worsening, and with knaves like himself, because they would laugh at him, and leave him out when any little co-operative swindle was in contemplation. But though the chagrin of the defeat was bitter bad enough, his losses were worse. He had taken everything offered on Janissary after he had nobbled the wrong horse, and had given almost any odds demanded. Do as he might, he could see nothing but a balance against him on Monday, which, though he might pay out his last cent, he could not cover by several hundred pounds.
    But on the day he met his customers at his club, as usual, and paid out freely. Young Richard Telfer, however, with whom he was heavily “in”, he put off till the evening. “I’ve been a bit disappointed this morning over some ready that was to be paid over,” he said, “and I’ve used the last cheque-form in my book. You might come and have a bit of dinner with me tonight, Mr. Telfer, and take it then.”
    Telfer assented without difficulty.
    “All right, then, that’s settled. You know the place—Gold Street. Seven sharp. The missis’ll be pleased to see you, I’m sure, Mr. Telfer. Let’s see—it’s fifteen hundred and thirty altogether, isn’t it?”
    “Yes, that’s it. I’ll come.”
    Young Telfer left the club, and at the corner of the street ran against Dorrington. Telfer, of course, knew him as his late fellow-guest at the “Crown” at Redbury, and this was their first meeting in London after their return from the races.
    “Ah!” said Telfer. “Going to draw a bit of Janissary money, eh?”
    “Oh, I haven’t much to draw,” Dorrington answered. “But I expect your pockets are pretty heavy, if you’ve just come from Naylor.”
    “Yes, I’ve just come from Naylor, but I haven’t touched the merry sovs just yet,” replied Telfer cheerfully. “There’s been a run on Naylor, and I’m going to dine with him and his respectable missis this evening, and draw the plunder then. I feel rather curious to see what sort of establishment a man like Naylor keeps going. His place is in Gold Street, Chelsea.”
    “Yes, I believe so. Anyhow, I congratulate you on your haul, and wish you a merry evening.” And the two men parted.
    Dorrington had, indeed, a few pounds to draw as a result of his “fishing” bet with Naylor, but now he resolved to ask for the money at his own time. This invitation to Telfer took his attention, and it reminded him oddly of the circumstances detailed in the report of the inquest on Lawrence, transcribed at the beginning of this paper. He had cut out this report at the time it appeared, because he saw certain singularities about the case, and he had filed it, as he had done hundred of other such cuttings. And now certain things led him to fancy that he might be much interested to observe the proceedings at Naylor’s house on the evening after a bad settling-day. He resolved to gratify himself with a strict professional watch in Gold Street that evening, on chance of something coming of it. For it was an important thing in Dorrington’s rascally trade to get hold of as much of other people’s private business as possible, and to know exactly in what cupboard to find every man’s skeleton. For there was no knowing but it might be turned into money sooner or later. So he found the number of Naylor’s house from the handiest directory, and at six o’clock, a little disguised by a humbler style of dress than usual, he began his watch.
    Naylor’s house was at the corner of a turning, with the flank wall blank of windows, except for one at the top; and a public-house stood at the