Then Max, not wishing to play the spy on his friend, turned his back;
and as he did so he caught sight of the railway ticket which had fallen
to the floor from Dudley's pocket before they went out.

Max picked it up, and noted that it was the return half of a first-class
return ticket from Fenchurch Street to Limehouse, and that it was dated
that very day.

He had scarcely noted this, mechanically rather than with any set
purpose, when he was startled to find Dudley at his elbow.

Max turned round quickly, but Dudley's eyes were fixed upon the railway
ticket.

"You dropped this when you--" began Max, handing it to his friend.

It was not until then, when Dudley took the ticket from him and tossed
it into the fireplace with a careless nod, that it flashed into the mind
of Max that the incident had some significance.

What on earth had Dudley been doing at Limehouse? His parents had had
property there, certainly, many years ago. But not a square foot of the
grimy, slimy, auriferous Thames-side land, not a brick or a beam of the
warehouses and sheds which had been theirs in the old days, had
descended to Dudley. Owing to the fraudulent action of Edward Jacobs,
all had had to go.