ing Doris Gray, he was quite content to
continue the search indefinitely.

"You know my views," the other went on--he glanced at his watch again.
"I want Doris to marry you. She is a dear girl, the only human being in
the world for whom I have any affection." His voice trembled, and none
could doubt his sincerity. "Somehow I am getting nervous about
things--that shooting which I witnessed the other night has made me
jumpy--go in and win."

He offered a cold hand to the other, and Frank took it, then, with a
little jerk of his head, and a muttered "shan't be gone long," he passed
into the vestibule, and out into the foggy street. A shrill whistle
brought a taxi from the gloom.

"The Savoy," said Farrington. He sprang in, and the cab started with a
jerk.

A minute later he thrust his head from the window.

"You may drop me here," he called. He descended and paid his fare. "I'll
walk the rest of the way," he remarked casually.

"Bit thickish on foot to-night, sir," offered the driver respectfully.
"Better let me set you down at the hotel." But his fare was already lost
in the enveloping mist.

Farrington wrapped his muffler closely about his chin, pulled down his
hat to shadow his eyes, and hurried along like a man with a set
destination.

Presently he halted and signalled to another cab, crawling along close
to the curb.

CHAPTER V

The fog was still heavy, and the blurred street-lamps looked ghastly in
the yellow mist, when the little newsboy messenger, the first half of
his mission performed, struck briskly riverward to complete his
business. He disposed of his papers by the simple expedient of throwing
them into a street refuse-bin. He jumped on a passing 'bus, and after
half an hour's cautious drive reached Southwark. He entered one of the
narrow streets leading from the Borough. Here the gas lamps were fewer,
and the intersecting streets more narrow and gloomy.

He plunged down a dark and crabbed way, glancing warily behind him now
and then to see if he was being followed.

Here, between invisible walls, the fog hung thick and warm and sticky,
crowding up close, with a kind of blowsy intimacy that whispered the
atmosphere of the place. Occasionally, close to his ear, snatches of
loose song burst out, or a coarse face loomed head-high through the
reek.

But the boy was upon his native heath and scuttled along, whistling
softly between closed teeth, as, with a dexterity born of long practice,