"Do you know you’re a very lucky fellow, Carne?" said the Earl of Amberley as they stood on the steps of that institution afterwards, before separating in pursuit of the pleasures of the afternoon. "You have health, wealth, fame, good looks, one of the finest houses in London, and now one of the prospective winners of the Derby. In fact, you only want one thing to make your existence perfect." "And what is that?" asked Carne. "A wife," replied Lord Amberley. "I wonder the girls have let you escape so long." "I am not a marrying man," said Carne; "how could a fellow like myself, who is here to-day and gone to-morrow, expect any woman to link her lot with his? Do you remember our first meeting?" "Perfectly," replied Lord Amberley. "When I close my eyes I can see that beautiful marble palace, set in its frame of blue water as plainly as if it were but yesterday I breakfasted with you there." "That was a very fortunate morning for me," said the other. "And now here is my cab. I must be off. Good-bye." "Good-bye," cried his friends, as he went down the steps and entered the vehicle. "Don’t forget to let us know if anything further turns up." "I will be sure to do so," said Simon Carne, and then, as he laid himself back on the soft cushions and was driven by way of Waterloo Place to Piccadilly, he added to himself, "Yes if I can bring off the little scheme I have in my mind, and one or two others which I am preparing, and can manage to get out of England without any one suspecting that I am the burglar who has outwitted all London, I shall have good cause to say that was a very fortunate day for me when I first met his lordship." That evening he dined alone. He seemed pre-occupied, and it was evident that he was disappointed about something. Several times on hearing noises in the street outside he questioned his servants as to the cause. At last, however, when Ram Gafur entered the room carrying a telegram upon a salver, his feelings found vent in a sigh of satisfaction. With eager fingers he broke open the envelope, withdrew the contents, and read the message it contained: "Seven Stars Music Hall--Whitechapel Road. Ten o’clock." There was no signature, but that fact did not seem to trouble him very much. He placed it in his pocketbook, and afterwards continued his meal in better spirits. When the servants had left the room he poured himself out a glass of port, and taking a pencil proceeded to make certain calculations upon the back of an envelope. For nearly ten minutes he occupied himself in this way, then he tore the paper into tiny pieces, replaced his pencil in his pocket, and sipped his wine with a satisfaction that was the outcome of perfected arrangements.