He had, so far as he could see, surmounted all his troubles, his one regret being that he had lost his pack, which contained among other things his Izaak Walton and his safety razor.

He bought another razor and a new Walton, and mounted an electric tram car en route for home.
Very contented with himself he felt as the car swung across the Clyde bridge.

He had done well--but of that he did not want to think, for the whole beastly thing was over.

He was going to bury that memory, to be resurrected perhaps on a later day when the unpleasantness had been forgotten.

Heritage had his address, and knew where to come when it was time to claim the jewels.