lt; and a dull blank feeling, a kind of deadness of
heart and mind, began to steal over him with the progress of the days.
He went through the routine of his business-life steadily enough, working
as hard as he had ever worked; but it was only by a supreme effort that
he could bring his mind to bear upon the details of business--all
interest in his office-work was gone.

The advertisement had appeared for the sixth time, and Gilbert had framed
a second, offering a reward of twenty pounds for any direct evidence of
the marriage of Marian Nowell; when a letter was handed to him one
evening at the post-office--a letter in a common blue envelope, directed
in a curious crabbed hand, and bearing the London post-mark.

His heart beat loud and fast as he tore open this envelope It contained
only a half-sheet of paper, with these words written upon it in the
cramped half-illegible hand which figured on the outside:

"The person advertising for Marian Nowell is requested to call at No. 5,
Queen Anne's Court, Wardour Street, any evening after seven."

This was all. Little as this brief note implied, however, Gilbert made
sure that the writer must be in a position to give him some kind of
information about the object of his search. It was six o'clock when he
received the communication. He went from the post-office to his lodgings
with his mind in a tumult of excitement, made a mere pretence of taking a
hasty dinner, and set off immediately afterwards for Wardour Street.

There was more than time for him to walk, and he hoped that the walk
might have some effect in reducing the fever of his mind. He did not want
to present himself before strangers--who, no doubt, only wanted to make a
barter of any knowledge they possessed as to Marian's whereabouts--in a
state of mental excitement. The address to which he was going mystified
him beyond measure. What could people living in such a place as this know
of her whom he sought?

He was in Wardour Street at a quarter before seven, but he had
considerable trouble in finding Queen Anne's Court, and the clocks of the
neighbourhood were striking the hour as he turned into a narrow alley
with dingy-looking shops on one side and a high dead wall on the other.
The gas was glimmering faintly in the window of No. 5, and a good deal of
old silver, tarnished and blackened, huddled together behind the
wire-guarded glass, was dimly visible in the uncertain light. There was
some old jewellery too, a