“Takes years to learn and there’s not much money in it,” said Mr. Stark sadly. “Spoilt by foreigners this trade is, ruined by competition and outsiders, like everything else. Americans mostly. Why they don’t keep in their own country I don’t know. Very smart fellows--I’ll say that, though they’re taking the bread out of our mouths; but we’ve got as good men if they only had a bit of encouragement and capital behind ’em.” The door swung out. “There you are, sir!” Gordon peered over the man’s shoulder. “Open?” he asked, in a tone which combined surprise and annoyance. The man who sold him the safe was indeed a teller of untrue stories. “Yes.” “Show the light. Here it is. Moses! there’s not ten thousand there!” He grasped what there was, and raised his head to listen--somebody was coming down the stairs. “Now go quick--there’s somebody coming. Here, take this!” He thrust a bill into the burglar’s hand. In a second Stark was through the window. Gordon was following, when a quivering voice from the sofa called: “Who’s there----?” Mr. Selsbury did not wait to explain. As the detective, with surprising courage, ran toward him, Gordon jumped from the window. “Stop!” It was another voice--Dempsi! Gordon dropped to the courtyard as the other fired. “Bang--bang!” Twice he shot, and there was a scream of pain. Diana heard it, and sprang from bed. Drawing her wrap about her as she ran, she flew down the stairs and into The Study. In the centre of the room stood Dempsi, and at his feet a figure--the wriggling figure of Julius Superbus. “He has paid the price of duty,” said Dempsi. And so it proved. Ten little toes had Mr. Superbus brought to 61 Cheynel Gardens. One would never go forth again attached to his patrician feet. CHAPTER XXV Summing up the matter, as she did in a night made busy with the comings and goings of doctors, and vocal with the low-voiced agony of Mr. Superbus, Diana was glad that the man had escaped. She was sorry, extremely sorry about the Julian toe--a small toe by all accounts, and not especially valuable or wholly necessary to his complete enjoyment of life--still, it was his, and had been (as he explained between paroxysms) a close companion throughout his chequered life. He recounted stories about it, half fond, half wistful. Once he had dropped a hammer on it and had cursed it for being in the way. He regretted that now. It had been a gentle, easy-going toe, and had never given him trouble. Other toes had developed callosities that were painful; but this child of his heart amongst the pedal appendages had never given him a moment’s unease. Yes, she was rather sorry, even though the doctor said he was in no pain and (not knowing the fearless character of the man) had given an opinion that Julius was more frightened than hurt. But she was glad Double Dan had gone ... ever so glad.