He had plunged into the icy waters of renunciation and come up clean if
naked. Never since he was a boy could Alan remember feeling so utterly
light-hearted and free from anxiety. Not for a million pounds would he
have returned to gather gold in that mausoleum of reputations. As for
the future, he did not in the least care what happened. There was no
one dependent on him, and in this way or in that he could always earn a
crust, a nice, honest crust.

He ran down the street and danced for joy like a child, yes, and
presented a crossing-sweeper against whom he butted with a whole
sixpence in compensation. Thus he reached the Mansion House, not
unsuspected of inebriety by the police, and clambered to the top of a
bus crowded with weary and anxious-looking City clerks returning home
after a long day's labour at starvation wage. In that cold company and
a chilling atmosphere some of his enthusiasm evaporated. He remembered
that this step of his meant that sooner or later, within a year or two
at most, Yarleys, where his family had dwelt for centuries, must go to
the hammer. Why had he not accepted Aylward's offer and sold that old
fetish to him for £17,000? There was no question of share-dealing there,
and if a very wealthy man chose to give a fancy price for a curiosity,
he could take it without doubt or shame. At least it would have sufficed
to save Yarleys, which after all was only mortgaged for £20,000. For the
life of him he could not tell. He had acted on impulse, a very curious
impulse, and there was an end of it perhaps; it might be because his
uncle had told him as a boy that the thing was unique, or perhaps
because old Jeekie, his negro servant, venerated it so much and swore
that it was "lucky." At any rate he had declined and there was an end.

But another and a graver matter remained. He had desired wealth to save
Yarleys, but he desired it still more for a different purpose. Above