"Here, I say," saluted the party, from Bob, "who's been a-meddlin' with these here preparations?" "What preparations?" said Hendon sharply. "These here," cried Bob, who had just taken down a large glass jar to dust. "The doctor will be in a way. He don't like no one to meddle with them." The jar was labelled, like the row from which it had been taken, with a gummed-on slip of letter paper, the contents being written in the doctor's own bold hand, the ink now yellow with age, and the gummed-on label beginning to peel off. "Put the horrible thing away!" cried Hendon angrily. "But some 'un's been a-stuffing something else in here as don't belong," cried the boy. "I knows 'em all by heart. Look here!" He thrust his hand into the glass jar, after removing the great stopper. "What are you doing, boy?" cried Hendon, stepping forward to arrest the lad's action, as he drew out, all dripping with the spirit, a disgusting-looking swollen object, evidently a portion of the digestive viscera of a calf or sheep; but before he could reach him, Mark uttered a wild cry, thrust him aside; and, as he snatched the hideous-looking object from Bob's hand, the glass jar fell upon the surgery floor, was smashed to atoms, and a strong odour of methylated spirit filled the place. "You've done it now!" cried the boy piteously; and then he stared as Mark dragged from his pocket a knife, and cut the string of what, in place of an anatomical preparation, was a soaked and swollen wash-leather bag. "Look, Rich, look!" cried Mark, dropping the knife, his hands trembling with excitement, and his voice so husky and changed that it was hardly recognisable. As he spoke, he thrust Rich back upon the settee, and, with one quick motion, poured a couple of handfuls of rough diamonds into her lap. "Mark!" she cried, as he sank upon his knees before her, and clasped her hands; while, in his excitement, Hendon caught Janet in his arms, from which she might have extricated herself a little more quickly than she did. "Now just look at that!" said Bob, picking up the bag, which had fallen upon the floor. "Why, it's just like one o' them things as the doctor's got saved up. I say," he continued excitedly, "lookye here, sir, there's another one inside." He drew out of the swollen leather bag a stone as big as a small marble, and held it out. "Yes; and that's yours, my boy," cried Mark excitedly; "whatever it fetches shall be for you." "What! my own?" cried Bob. "Yes--yes!" "To do what I like with, sir?" "Well, it shall be applied for your benefit, my lad." "Then I wants some on it now!" cried the boy excitedly. "What for?" said Rich. "To get my old ooman home." "And I want one, Mark," cried Hendon. "Yes," said Mark; "to pay James Poynter's debt." CHAPTER EIGHTEEN. KNOTTING UP LOOSE THREADS.