“And many thousands of pounds left in our pockets which, under existing conditions, will have to come out of them.” “It is worth considering.” “Certainly.” “As long as he remains alive, remember, we shall be subjected to repetitions of the sort of visit he has just paid us.” And, while they talked, Levi Schomberg, threading his way along the crowded pavement of Oxford Street, had but one thought in his mind. Jessica. He had always admired her, but now she had completely bewitched him. Surely--surely with the woman in his power, and with Stapleton, too, in his power, anything and everything should be possible? But how set about it? What would be his best and most direct mode of attack? Another thought came to him. Where was Mervyn-Robertson? He knew the fellow was not dead, but what had become of him, and in what corner of the world was he at that moment? If only he could find out, Robertson himself might be employed in some capacity to achieve his end. When he had last heard of Robertson, some years before, the man had been in dire straits, and when a man of his type and way of living came to be in dire straits, he reflected, he generally remained in that state until the end of the chapter. Then there was Mrs. Hartsilver. Hating Jessica, and striving all she knew to find out all about her, she might serve sooner or later as a useful lever. When two women, both beautiful, and both moving in the same social circle, come to entertain a bitter enmity for each other, anything may happen, or be made to happen, he reflected. And Jessica had other enemies as well among “the people who count,” he remembered. Yes, with the aid of a little tact, a little ingenuity---- People passing glanced at him in astonishment, wondering why he smiled. He wandered into the Park at Marble Arch, for it was a beautiful afternoon and the sight of the trees in full foliage always appealed to his artistic eye. Scores of cars containing people obviously of leisure kept rolling past, and as he watched them his imagination wove romances round some of the occupants of the cars. Among the faces many were familiar to him; he recognized two of his clients. A self-satisfied smile parted his lips. “Who would think, to look at them,” he said aloud, “they would not have a shilling in the world if I chose to foreclose? Yet there are folk who no doubt envy them, and tradesmen who would not hesitate to give them credit--big credit--unlimited credit. Fools, oh, what fools there are! Was it not Thackeray who wrote that ‘long customs, a manly appearance, faultless boots and clothes and a happy fierceness of manner’ would often help a man as much as a great balance at his bankers?”