it without
arousing suspicion? Mayes doesn't know you, you see. What do you think?
We don't want to precipitate matters till we hear from Hewitt, but on
the other hand I don't want to sit still as long as anything can be
ascertained. You might ask a question about book-binding."

"Of course," I said. "If you will let me I'll go at once--glad of the
chance to get a peep. I'll bespeak a quotation for binding and
lettering a thousand octavos in paste grain, on behalf of some
convenient firm of publishers. That would be technical enough, I think?"

I took my hat and walked out as Plummer had done, though, of course, I
approached the door of No. 8 with less caution. The packing-case maker's
men were hammering away merrily, and as I mounted the stairs I saw the
little fancy-goods agent among his cardboard boxes, just as Plummer had
said. The upper part of the house was a silent contrast to the busy
lower floors, and as I arrived at the next landing I was surprised to
see the door ajar.

I pushed boldly in, and found myself alone in a good-sized room plainly
fitted as an office. There were two windows looking on the street, and
one at the back, more than half concealed behind a ground glass
partition or screen. I stepped across and looked out of this window. It
looked on a narrow space, or well, of plain brick wall, containing
nothing but a ladder, standing in one corner. And the only other window
giving on this narrow square space was in the opposite wall, but much
lower, on the ground level.

I saw these things in a single glance, and then I turned--to find myself
face to face with a tallish, thin, active man, with a pale, shaven,
ascetic face, dark hair, and astonishingly quick glittering black eyes.
He stood just within the office door, to which he must have come without
a sound, looking at me with a mechanical smile of inquiry, while his
eyes searched me with a portentous keenness.

"Oh," I said, with the best assumption of carelessness I could command,
"I was looking for you, Mr. Richardson. Do you care to give a quotation
for binding at per thousand crown octavo volumes in paste grain, plain,
with lettering on back?"

"No," answered the man with the eyes, "I don't; I'm afraid my
carelessness has led you into a mistake. I am not Richardson the
bookbinder. He was my predecessor in this office, and I have neglected
to paint out his name on the door-post."

I hastened to apologise. "I am sorry to have intruded," I