Free The Annam Jewel by Patricia Wentworth

unwilling hand.
    Peter went away an hour later. He left Rose Ellen making the blue velvet dress for Augustabel.
    The station was only half a mile away. He set out for it, bag in hand. He had accomplished his object; he had found a home for Rose Ellen. He must now get back to Victoria, retrieve his luggage, and join his Uncle Matthew at Ledlington, twenty-four hours later than the time he had fixed in his letter. Fortunately, he still had Miles Banham’s sovereign; that would take him to Victoria, and he could then begin to use his journey money again.
    Just outside the station he put down his bag in order to get the money out of his waistcoat pocket. The waistcoat pocket was empty. He felt in every pocket, but the sovereign was gone. He had twopence in coppers, and his official journey money which he could not use until he reached Victoria. Peter never thought of using it, nor did it occur to him to return and tell Mrs. Mortimer what had happened. Instead, he inquired the way to the nearest large station, and set out to walk the eight miles which lay between him and it.
    As he walked he thought. He thought about the Annam Jewel. He never spoke of it, but he thought of it very often; and in his thoughts it was a living splendour. If the actual Jewel had been torn from its shrine all those years ago by covetous, blood-stained hands, the vision of the Jewel had come into a new resting-place, secret and silent. It lay in a very sacred shrine in the heart of Peter’s dream. When he was twenty-five he would behold the Jewel. It would be his. It is impossible to explain what the Jewel meant to Peter. Peter never spoke of it to anyone. It was all the dreams come true; it was Romance; it was Adventure; it was Deadly Peril and Achievement.
    He tramped the eight miles, and did not know the way was long, or trouble because he had a hundred miles to cover and only twopence to spend. In the land of Romance and High Adventure no road is weary.
    Twenty-four hours later he reached Ledlington. He had stolen a ride on a train, only to be discovered and thrown roughly off. After a second tramp he had been more fortunate, and had reached Victoria very hungry, very dirty, and very footsore. From there all was plain sailing. His journey money now came into legitimate use, and he bought his ticket with the pride of a millionaire.
    He did not ring the front door bell, but went round by the garden, and walked in at Matthew Waring’s study window.
    His uncle sat at the table, writing. At the sound of Peter’s entry he turned, upset the ink, and uttered an odd, wordless exclamation. His eyes were hard from want of sleep.
    â€œGood God, boy, where have you been? Where’s the little girl?”
    The door opened as he spoke. Emily Waring stood on the threshold. For the first time in their joint lives Matthew turned on her in a fury.
    â€œGo away!” he said, not loudly, but with a cold anger which was more cutting.
    â€œGo away! You’ve done harm enough, Emily. Will you go away?”
    Emily went. One can be sorry for her. She did not think of herself as a hard or an unjust woman. She thought that Rose Ellen must be dead. No, she did not put it like that. She thought that something must have happened to Rose Ellen, something dreadful. Suddenly she saw herself, hard and cold, Matthew hating her, telling her to go away.
    Matthew Waring turned again to Peter.
    â€œFor God’s sake, boy, where’s the little girl?”
    â€œI’ve found a home for her,” said Peter.
    â€œYou—”
    â€œI said I’d take her away if she wasn’t happy,” said Peter doggedly.
    â€œOh, you did, did you?” said Mr, Waring, with the sudden anger of relief. “You took her away, and none of us knowing where you were, whether you were alive or dead! A pretty business, I must say, a pretty disgraceful business.”
    He banged on the table with his fist, and glared at Peter, who had dropped his bag and