A prowling hansom passed. Philip whistled.
"Where's the fare?" demanded the cabman, angrily, looking up and down the street.
"Drive me to Holborn Viaduct, quick," said the boy, with his foot on the step.
"What's the gyme?" he growled. "D'yer tyke me for a mug, or what?"
"Oh, don't talk so much," cried Philip, impatiently. "Are you afraid I won't pay you? See! If you lose no more time, I will give you this," and he held up a two-shilling piece for the cabman's edification.
It is difficult to surprise your true Cockney whip. The man carefully folded the evening paper he had been reading, stuffed it under the strap which held his rug and cape, and chirruped to his horse:
"Kim up, lazy bones! We've got a millionaire crossin'-sweeper inside. What, ho! Any bloomin' perfession is better'n drivin' a keb."
The run was shorter than Philip anticipated, but, true to his promise, he proffered the two shillings.
The cabman looked at him. Something in the boy's face seemed to strike him as curious, and, notwithstanding Philip's rags, his skin was scrupulously clean.
"Gow on," he cried. "I'll make yer a present of that trip. 'Ope it'll giv yer a fresh stawt in the world. Kim up, will yer!" And the hansom swung away into the traffic, leaving the boy standing on the pavement on the north side of the viaduct. He made a mental note of the cab's number. It was easy to remember--three 8's and a 9--and walked on toward Hatton Garden.
Meanwhile the cabman, after varying luck, drove to his yard, changed horses, secured a fare to a theater, and joined the Haymarket rank while he took a meal in the cabmen's shelter.
"What's to-day's bettin' on the National?" he asked a friend.
The evening paper was passed and he cast an eye over its columns. Suddenly he rapped out a string of expressions that amazed his companions.
"What's the matter, Jimmie? Missed a twenty to one chance at Lincoln?"
"Great Scott! I thought he'd lift the roof off."
But the cabman still swore and gazed round-eyed at the sheet. And this is what he read:
"The boy, Philip Morland, whose possession of a collection of meteoric diamonds of great value has created so much sensation, was brought up on remand to-day at the Clerkenwell Police Court, and released. Mr. Abingdon thought fit to hear the case in camera, so this ragged urchin is wandering about London again with a pocketful of gems. He was last seen entering a cab in the neighborhood of the police court, and inquiry by our representative at the Hatton Garden offices of Mr. Isaacstein, the diamond merchant, whose name has figured in connection with the case, elicited the information that Morland called there about 3 P.M. Mr. Isaacstein positively refused to make any further statement for publication, but it is probable that developments in this peculiar and exciting affair will take place at any moment."