Paul Harley lighted a cigarette. Oddly enough, he was aware of a
feeling of great relief. In the first place, his sixth sense had been
triumphantly vindicated; and, in the second place, his hitherto shadowy
enemies, with their seemingly supernatural methods, had been unmasked.
At least they were human, almost incredibly clever, but of no more than
ordinary flesh and blood.

The contest had developed into open warfare. Harley's accurate knowledge
of London had enabled him to locate No. 236 South Lambeth Road without
recourse to a guide, and now, walking on past the big gas works and the
railway station, he turned under the dark arches and pressed on to where
a row of unprepossessing dwellings extended in uniform ugliness from a
partly demolished building to a patch of waste ground.

That the house was being watched he did not doubt. In fact, he no longer
believed subterfuge to be of any avail. He was dealing with dangerously
accomplished criminals. How clever they were he had yet to learn; and it
was only his keen intuitive which at this juncture enabled him to score
a point over his cunning opponents.

He walked quite openly up the dilapidated steps to the door of No.
236, and was about to seize the dirty iron knocker when the door opened
suddenly and a girl came out. She was dressed neatly and wore a pseudo
fashionable hat from which a heavy figured veil depended so as almost
to hide her features. She was carrying a bulging cane grip secured by a
brown leather strap.

Seeing Harley on the step, she paused for a moment, then, recovering
herself:

"Ellen!" she shouted down the dim passageway revealed by the opening of
the door. "Somebody to see you."

Leaving the door open, she hurried past the visitor with averted face.
It was well done, and, thus disguised by the thick veil, another man
than Paul Harley might have failed to recognize one of whom he had never
had more than an imperfect glimpse. But if Paul Harley's memory did not
avail him greatly, his unerring instinct never failed.

He grasped the girl's arm. "One moment, Miss Jones," he said, quietly,
"it is you I am here to see!"

The girl turned angrily, snatching her arm from his grasp. "You've made
a mistake, haven't you?" she cried, furiously. "I don't know you and I
don't want to!"

"Be good enough to step inside again. Don't make a scene. If you behave
yourself, you have nothing to fear. But I want to talk to you."

He extended his arm to detain h