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He had travelled much, especially in London, Paris, Berlin, and Vienna, where he had studied the amazing growth abroad of the new criminal science. Already I knew something, by hearsay, of the men he had seen, Gross, Lacassagne, Reiss, and the now immortal Bertillon.

People who are hard up are "wasters." No one has any business to be hard up; "respectable" men live on what they've got. If any one were to ask him how people are to live within their means when they've not got any, he would reply with the word "bunkum" and clinch the argument with a grunt. It will be understood that conversation with Mr. Adolf Reiss is not easy. A knock on the door. Mr.

This is deliberate and its purpose twofold to gain time and to embarrass the person addressed. The young fellow sits down rather uncomfortably and begins again "We're ordered out, you know " "No, I didn't know. How could I? You never write " Mr. Reiss consolidates his defence with the pretence of a grievance. "I didn't know myself until yesterday. They don't give one much time, you know."

Adolf Reiss does not need to read farther, and now he has a final grievance against Life. Sir Matthew Bale, baronet and Member of Parliament, appears to be, at first sight, a distinguished person. When you know him better, you ask yourself what misled you, and you reconsider his personality. Careful scrutiny reveals that he is a skilful imitation.

He's the finest fellow in the regiment. I can't allow you Look here never mind the money. The jeweller knows it's all right. I'd rather " He stops. The words won't come. He gazes at his uncle helplessly. Mr. Reiss goes slowly to the writing-table and sits down. Taking a blank cheque from a pocket-book he always carries, he fills it in and passes it to the boy without speaking.

Surely after all his self-sacrifice and self-denial he is not to be robbed of the one satisfaction he asks for, to know that the beggarly remains of his wealth shall be safe after his own death. Every day he scans the papers anxiously. His one preoccupation is the daily casualty list. Spring is at hand, and though there is chill in the air Mr. Reiss is economical and sits before an empty grate.

Then, "Eh what?" "He was engaged, you know." "Well well?" irritably. "I can't explain, uncle, if you don't give me a chance." Another grunt. "Jimmie I mean Staples wanted to give his girl a ring before he went back. He hadn't enough money so I lent him fifty pounds." Mr. Reiss drops his glasses, gets up from his chair, and stands before the fire, facing his nephew.

Reiss's servant announces some one and withdraws. Intuitively Mr. Reiss, who is rather deaf, and has not caught the name, grasps the paper and hides behind it. From long experience he has discovered the utility of the newspaper as a sort of parapet behind which he can better await attack. A slight figure in khaki advances into the room, observes the newspaper above the legs and smiles slightly.

"Hello, uncle!" It's a fresh young voice. Mr. Reiss grunts, slowly lowers the paper and gazes at the youth over his eyeglasses. "Oh, it's you. When did you come up?" "Just arrived, uncle. We're ordered out. I thought I'd look you up at once as there are one or two things " "Eh what?" Among Mr. Reiss's characteristics is a disconcerting habit of making people repeat their remarks.

He has a curious and at the same time a strong desire to do something now at once. He has never felt like this before. Supposing he were to A knock on the door. His servant brings in a telegram. Why do Mr. Reiss's fingers tremble so? Why does Mr. Reiss begin cleaning his glasses before he opens the envelope? He holds the pink paper under the lamp. Deeply regret to inform you.... Mr.