ByTalbotMundy 
ILLUSTRATED BY CYRUS CXJNEO 
I. 
T was on a bench in Trafalgar 
Square that Robert Furleigh 
sat one bitter February morn- 
ing. He was wedged in tightly 
between five other men, 
shabbier even and dirtier 
than he was ; and he stared 
disconsolately at his unblacked boots, and 
tried to forget the hunger that was gnawing 
at his stomach. 
Ten paces from him was a man in uniform, 
who wore a little bunch of ribbons in his cap. 
He was spotless and unrumpled as a new- 
struck silver coin. Five medals hung in a 
row on his left breast, and he possessed the 
balance and self-reliance that nothing save 
work well done can give a man. He stroked 
his moustache and faced St. Martin’s Church 
without any apparent interest, and nobody, 
judging from a first glance at him, would have 
supposed that he was there on business. 
But this was one of the feeders of Britain’s 
firing-line, and sideways, from the corner of 
his eye, he was watching Furleigh. 
“ Raw as a piece of steak,” he muttered 
to himself. <£ Now, I wonder what brought 
him down in the world. Hit the bottom 
about a week ago, I should say ; his boots 
haven’t been blacked for four or five days, 
but. they’re good ones, clothes are well-cut, 
and they fit him. Blood on his collar, and 
the tail end of a black eye about a week old. 
Um-m-m ! Was it debts, I wonder, or a 
woman ? Both, probably. Anyhow, I think 
he’ll do, and he’s ripe.” 
The derelict got up from the seat and 
craned his neck to look above the crowd, 
and the moment that he rose another derelict 
slipped into his place behind him. This n&w- 
comer was a bull-necked brute of a man, 
strong by the look of him, but he had the sly 
leer and the sneer on his face of the unsuccess- 
ful criminal. Whatever it was that Furleigh 
looked for he was disappointed, for he turned 
to sit down again with an air of even greater 
despondence on his face, and the man who 
had stolen his seat looked up and laughed 
at him, and his lips moved in some sneering 
insult. Quick as a flash Furleigh’s hand 
shot out and seized the brute’s collar ; there 
was a short struggle, a blowq a blasphemous 
oath, and the man who had no right to the 
seat went over behind it backward. 
“ Good ! ” said the recruiting - sergeant, 
still watching from his point of vantage. 
“ I’d an idea that fellow hadn’t dropped 
through the bottom yet. He’s got more 
spirit left than I thought, even. Pretty 
nearly six feet, and over fortv round the 
chest. He’ll do.” 
He started to stroll back again, quite 
casually, but this time he came to a stop 
directly in front of Furleigh and faced him, 
and stared at him deliberately. He stared 
him out of countenance, and Furleigh’s eyes 
dropped ; he felt in his pockets nervously 
for cigarettes, and finding none, looked 
down at his boots again. Instantly the 
recruiting-sergeant produced a packet, and 
held it out towards him 
“ Hands soft as a woman’s,” he thought, 
as his quarry reached out eagerly and took 
one. “ Pie’ll mould all right, this one 
will, but he'll suffer. Here, take the lot, 
won’t you ? ” he said, tossing him the 
packet. 
His quarry thanked him and blew smoke 
luxuriously through his nose. He seemed to 
think that the incident was closed, for he 
once more dropped his eyes and sank his 
chin on to his chest and lapsed into discon- 
solate reverie. But the sergeant had not 
finished with him. 
“ You’re looking glum,” he said, suddenly. 
“ What’s wrong ? ” 
