e left the main track and
wandered down one of the by-paths, in which stood several wooden
benches. Big Ben struck the half-hour. There was just time for another
cigar, and Leroy sat down. He was in no humour yet to endure the heat of
the theatre, or the chaff and vulgarity of Ada Lester.

He lost count of time, in the pleasant quietude of the spot; and his
cigar was burnt down to an inch when, with a half-sigh, he arose to
exchange the hard seat amidst the cool trees for a lounge and a crowd of
ballet girls at the theatre.

As he picked up his stick, he heard a footstep behind him, and turning,
saw an ill-dressed, sullen-looking man. The light from one of the lamps
near by shone full on him; and something about the stout, shambling
figure, or the dirty evil-browed face, seemed dimly familiar.

To his surprise, the man nodded at him with a sulky frown, and said, in
a thick voice:

"Good-evening! Don't remember me, I s'pose?"

"No, I do not," admitted Leroy, as he scanned the bleared, swollen
countenance before him.

"Ah! you swells 'as bad memories; I ain't forgotten you, so don't you
think it!"

Leroy gazed at him calmly; he thought the man was intoxicated.

"Do you want anything of me?" he asked, as he pulled on his glove.

"That depends," responded the man, moving forward so that he stood right
in Adrien's path. "You're Mr. Leroy, ain't you?"

"I am," said Leroy. "What is it you want?"

"I wants to ask you a question," returned the other, bringing his face
closer to Adrien, who recoiled involuntarily--the very smell of the
fustian clothes offending his delicate nostrils.

The man noticed this, and frowned even more heavily.

"You're a gentleman," he said, "leastways I s'pose you calls yourself
such--p'raps you'll act like one."

"Kindly make haste and tell me what you want, my good fellow," said
Adrien impatiently. He did not know but that this was a preliminary to
an attempt to rob him, and he was in no mood for a brawl.

"Oh, I'll be quick enough for you," was the sullen reply. "You don't
remember me, you say; p'raps you'll remember my name--Wilfer--Johann
Wilfer."

"Johann Wilfer," repeated Adrien, thoughtfully and slowly, wondering
where he had heard the name before.

"Yes, Johann Wilfer, Picture Restorer, Cracknell Court, Soho."

"Oh!" said Adrien, as a burst of memory dawned on him. "I remember you
now. What is it you want? But tell me first, has the girl Jessica
returned yet?"

"That's