David listened
eagerly. At any rate, now he was going to know the number whence the
mysterious message came--0017, Kensington, was the number. David muttered
his thanks and flew to his big telephone directory. Yes, there it
was--"0017, 446, Prince's Gate, Gilead Gates."
The big volume dropped with a crash on the floor. David looked down at
the crumpled volume with dim, misty amazement.
"Gilead Gates," he murmured. "Quaker, millionaire, and philanthropist.
One of the most highly-esteemed and popular men in England. And from his
house came the message which has been the source of all the mischief. And
yet there are critics who say the plots of my novels are too fantastic!"
CHAPTER VII
NO. 2l8, BRUNSWICK SQUARE
The emotion of surprise seemed to have left Steel altogether. After the
last discovery he was prepared to believe anything. Had anybody told him
that the whole Bench of Bishops was at the bottom of the mystery he would
have responded that the suggestion was highly probable.
"Still, it's what the inimitable Dick Swiveller would call a
staggerer," he muttered. "Gates, the millionaire, the one great
capitalist who has the profound respect of the labour world.
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