in her methods.

"I suppose that can't be helped," he muttered. "Though it certainly
gives the enemy a better start. I hope you have not destroyed the
address of that lawyer?"

"Oh, no," Violet cried. "It is in my old memorandum book. Perhaps you
had better take a copy of it for your own use. I have no doubt that my
letter has been delivered at Wandsworth by this time, but as Mr.
Sartoris is a cripple----"

Field was not quite so sure on that point. Sartoris, it was true, was a
cripple, but then Field had not forgotten the black hansom and the
expedition by night to the _Royal Palace Hotel_. He felt that Sartoris
would not let the grass grow under his feet. From the memorandum book he
copied the address--which proved to be a street in Lincoln's Inn Fields.

"Evidently a pretty good firm," Field muttered. "I'll go round there at
once and see Mr. George Fleming. But there is one thing, you will be
silent as to all I have told you. We are on the verge of very important
discoveries, and a word at random might ruin everything."

Violet Decie said that she perfectly well understood what she had to do.

"Sartoris may try to see you again," Field continued. "If he does, do
not answer him. Pretend that you are still ignorant; do nothing to
arouse his suspicions. Perhaps it would have been better if I had told
you nothing of this, but I fancy that I can trust you."

"You can trust me implicitly," the girl said eagerly. "If it is to harm
that man----"

She said no more, and Field perfectly understood what her feelings were.
By no means displeased with his morning's work he started off in the
direction of Lincoln's Inn Fields. He was pleased to find that the firm
of George Fleming & Co. occupied good offices, and that the clerks
looked as if they had been there a long time. It was just as well not to
have a pettifogging lawyer to deal with. Mr. Fleming was in, but he was
engaged for a little time. Perhaps the gentleman would state his
business; but on the whole Field preferred to wait.

He interested himself for some little time behind the broad page of the
"Daily Telegraph," until at length an inner door marked "private" opened
and a tall man with grey hair emerged, with a crooked figure dragging on
his arm. Field looked over the paper for a moment, and then ducked down
again as he saw Carl Sartoris. Evidently the cripple had lost no time.
He was saying something now in a low and rasping voice to the lawyer.

"My dear s