Then I shall get locked up, and my
name will be in the papers, and my uncle will see it, and have a fit,
and die. I don't want my uncle to have a fit, and die, or I shall feel
that I am responsible for his death. So I must emigrate."
Suddenly he recalled the words and manner of the Baron von Kerber. They
came to him with the vividness of a new impression. He sought for the
card in his pocket. "Baron Franz von Kerber, 118, Queen's Gate, W.," it
read.
"Sounds like an Austrian name," he reflected. "But the girl was
English, a thoroughbred, too. What was it he said? 'Work of the right
sort, for a man with brains and pluck.' Well, I shall give this joker a
call. If he wants me to tackle anything short of crime, I'm his man.
Failing him, I shall see Jack to-morrow, when he is off duty."
A red banner was staggering up Northumberland Avenue, and he caught a
glimpse of a fat man in the midst of the lean ones.
"Oh, dash those fellows, they give me the hump," he growled, and he
turned his back on them a second time.
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