He went out presently, and on the stair, feebly lighted by a jet of gas,
he ran up against a fellow-lodger--a young Jew, whom he knew by the name
of Mr. Melchior Rubinstein, who occupied the rooms immediately beneath his
own. He was a quiet, affable little person, with whom Lauriston sometimes
exchanged a word or two--and the fact that he sported rings on his
fingers, a large pin in his tie, and a heavy watch-chain, which was either
real gold or a very good imitation, made Lauriston think that he would
give him some advice. He stopped him--with a shy look, and an awkward
blush.

"I say!" he said. "I--the fact is, I'm a bit hard up--temporarily, you
know--and I want to borrow some money on my watch. Could you tell me where
there's a respectable pawnbroker's?"

Melky--known to every one in the house by that familiar substitute for his
more pretentious name--turned up the gas-jet and then held out a slender,
long-fingered hand. "Let's look at the watch," he said curtly, in a soft,
lisping voice. "I know more than a bit about watches, mister."

Lauriston handed the watch over and watched Melky inquisitively as he
looked at it, inside and out, in a very knowing and professional way.
Melky suddenly glanced at him. "Now, you wouldn't like to sell this here
bit of property, would you, Mr. Lauriston?" he enquired, almost
wheedlingly. "I'll give you three quid for it--cash down."

"Thank you--but I wouldn't sell it for worlds," replied Lauriston.

"Say four quid, then," urged Melky. "Here!--between friends, I'll give you
four-ten! Spot cash, mind you!"