hidden from his sight--went on ticking.

Lauriston bent over the counter at last and craned his neck to look into
the open door of a little parlour which lay behind the shop. The next
instant, with no thought but of the exigencies of the moment, he had leapt
over the partition and darted into the room. There, stretched out across
the floor, his head lying on the hearthrug, his hands lying inert and
nerveless at his sides, lay an old man, grey-bearded, venerable--Daniel
Multenius, no doubt. He lay very still, very statuesque--and Lauriston,
bending over and placing a trembling hand on the high, white forehead,
knew that he was dead.

He started up--his only idea that of seeking help. The whole place was so
still that he knew he was alone with the dead in it. Instinctively, he ran
through the front shop to the street door--and into the arms of a man who
was just entering.



CHAPTER FOUR


THE PLATINUM SOLITAIRE

The newcomer, an elderly, thick-set man, who, in spite of his plain
clothes, looked as if he were an official of some sort and carried some
documents in his hand, at which he was glancing as he entered, started and
exclaimed as Lauriston, in his haste, ran up against him. "Hullo!" he
said. "What's the matter? You seem in a hurry, young fellow!"