their departure. Nothing had been heard at home.

Late in the afternoon on the day of his arrival in London, Steele went
for a walk, hoping that before he returned some clew would occur to
him, upon which he could concentrate his efforts. His steps wandered
aimlessly along Pall Mall, and, after the usage of former habit,
carried him to a club, where past experience told him he would meet
old friends. But, at the club door, he halted, realizing that he did
not want to meet men. He could think better alone. So, with his foot
on the stone stairs, he wheeled abruptly, and went on to Trafalgar
Square, where once more he halted, under the lions of the Nelson
Column, and racked his brain for any thought or hint that might be
followed to a definite end.

He stood with the perplexed air of a man without definite objective.
The square was well-nigh empty except for a few loiterers about the
basins, and the view was clear to the elevation on the side where, at
the cab-stand, waited a row of motor "taxis" and hansoms. The
afternoon was bleak, and the solemn monotone of London was graver and
more forbidding than usual.

Suddenly, his heart pounded with a violence that made his chest feel
like a drum. With a sudden start, he called loudly, "Saxon! Hold on,
Saxon!" then went at a run toward the cab-stand.

He had caught a fleeting and astounding vision. A man, with the poise
and face that he sought, had just stepped into one of the waiting
vehicles, and given an order to the driver. Even in his haste, Steele
was too late to do anything more than take a second cab, and shout to
the man on the box to follow the vehicle that had just left the curb.
As his "taxi" turned into the Strand, and slurred through the mud
past the Cecil and the Savoy, he kept his eyes strained on the cab
ahead, threading its way through the congested traffic, disappearing,
dodging, reappearing, and taxing his gaze to the utmost. For a moment
after they had both crowded into Fleet Street, he lost it, and, as he
leaned forward, searching the jumble of traffic, his own vehicle came
to a halt just opposite the Law Courts. He looked hastily out, to see
the familiar shoulders of the man he followed disappearing beyond a
street-door, under the swinging "Sign of the Cock."

Tossing a half-crown to the cabman, he followed up the stairs, and
entered the room, where the tables were almost deserted. A group of
men was sitting in one of the stalls, deep in converse, and,