The boy with the ill-secured eyes took his place on the box by the
driver, and the driver was directed to go to Lombard Street.
"News from the bank?" I asked, as we started.
"News of Mr. Luker," said Mr. Bruff. "An hour ago, he was seen to
leave his house at Lambeth, in a cab, accompanied by two men, who were
recognised by my men as police officers in plain clothes. If Mr. Luker's
dread of the Indians is at the bottom of this precaution, the inference
is plain enough. He is going to take the Diamond out of the bank."
"And we are going to the bank to see what comes of it?"
"Yes--or to hear what has come of it, if it is all over by this time.
Did you notice my boy--on the box, there?"
"I noticed his eyes."
Mr. Bruff laughed. "They call the poor little wretch 'Gooseberry' at
the office," he said. "I employ him to go on errands--and I only wish my
clerks who have nick-named him were as thoroughly to be depended on as
he is. Gooseberry is one of the sharpest boys in London, Mr. Blake, in
spite of his eyes."
It was twenty minutes to five when we drew up before the bank in Lombard
Street. Gooseberry looked longingly at his master, as he opened the cab
door.
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