In an outer room sat O'Hara, writing, reading Theocritus, or a little book on mediaeval embroidery, forefinger on cheek; and anon, absolutely without motive, he would rise, creep, and peep through a keyhole at Hogarth, then on stalking, bowing tiptoe, grinning a rancid grimace of stealth, get back to his seat, and read--the tutor falling over head and ears in love with his pupil: one of those passions that end tragically. One day, as he so sat, the bell _pinged_, the door opened, and O'Hara jumped to find himself face to face with--Frankl, who had come to see the new diamond king, in the firm belief that Mr. Beech was none other than O'Hara; and, “I thought as much!” said he. “_Sh-h-h_”, went O'Hara bitterly--“for God's sake! he is _in there_--!” “Who is?” “_Hogarth!_” “Well, but--” “Outside--in the passage--” They stepped out; and Frankl, his eyelids red, said: “I have only this day crawled from bed with the blow you struck my temple, or I should have had you before this--” “_Sh-h-h_. Your own fault, sir. _You_ played false first--” “Played false with my own diamonds? You hand me over this day one-half those stones, or I bring a civil action for the whole, hound you to beggary, and drag you back to your convict-cell where you come from”. “Don't lift your voice, I beg of you. Tut, you rave. You can't bring a civil action against a great millionaire who doesn't care to defend; and as for me, I do assure you, I haven't fifty pounds to-day. _It is Hogarth who is Mr. Beech!_” “_Who?_”--Frankl obtruded a startled ear, frowning his eyes small. “Hogarth. He has the diamonds back!” “Which diamonds? How did he get 'em?” “He is--_in_--_there_: better go and ask him! He got them by black art--by the aid of the legion of mediaeval witches which wait on him--_God_ knows how he got them! _You_ gave them to him! _I_ gave them to him! but he's got them--_in--there_! Better go and ask him--don't be afraid--just for the roaring fun of it--” “Hogarth?” “Yes--Hogarth, Hogarth”. “Cheated the gallows? And out of prison? And rolling in my wealth, my riches, my diamonds? Oh, no!--is that fair? A dog? Is that how the world is run? God of Israel!” “There is this to be said for him: that he _deserves_ to be rich--” “Who? So you are taking his part now?” “Tut--!” “There is no _tut_ about it! You confess that you are nothing more than a penniless hanger-on: well, then, I have _you_! back to prison you go this hour---!” O'Hara's cheek trembled; but he said: “A sufficiently vain threat, sir: I am Hogarth's tutor: he won't let me be taken. Don't waste your time, you impotent Jew--” “Tutor? That's good! What you teaching him?--murder? _outrage?_ He _ought_ to have a tutor, he! That's good! Tutor! Well, suppose I drop a line first post to your nice _pupil_ to let him know that it was his _tutor_ who stole his diamonds--”