frock-coat and tall hat
of society. His was a face once seen not easily forgotten, the outlines
classic and finely chiselled, the habitual expression thoughtful,
preoccupied, the prevalent idea conveyed being tenacious strength. Quite
an unusual person in Middle Street, Kennington.

They passed.

Brett swung the stick carelessly in his left hand, but not so carelessly
that on the least sign of a hostile movement he would be unable to dash it
viciously at his possible adversary's eyes.

He remembered the advice of an old cavalry officer: "Always give 'em the
point between the eyes. They come head first, and you reach 'em at the
earliest moment."

Nevertheless, he experienced a quick quiver down his spine when the other
man deliberately stopped and looked after him. He did not turn his head,
but he could "feel" that vicious glance travelling over him, could hear
the unspoken question: "Now, I wonder who _you_ are, and what you want
here?"

He staggered slightly, recovered his balance, and went on. It was a
masterpiece of suggestiveness, not overdone, a mere wink of intoxication,
as it were.

It sufficed. Such an explanation accounts for many things in London.

The watcher resumed his interrupted progress. Brett crossed the street and
deliberately knocked at the door of a house in which the ground floor was
illuminated.

Someone peeped through a blind, the door opened as far as a rattling chain
would permit.

"Good evening," said Brett.

"What do you want?" demanded a suspicious woman.

"Mr. Smith--Mr. Horatio Smith."

"He doesn't live here."

"Dear me! Isn't this 76 Middle Street?"

"Yes; all the same, there's no Smiths here."

The door slammed; but the barrister had attained his object. The other man
had entered No. 37.

CHAPTER XXV

WHERE DID MARGARET GO?

In the Kennington Park Road he hailed hansom and drove home. Winter
awaited him, for Smith now admitted the detective without demur should his
master be absent.

The barrister walked to a sideboard, produced a decanter of brandy, and
helped himself to a stiff dose.

"Ah," he said pleasantly, "our American cousins call it a 'corpse
reviver,' but a corpse could not do that, could he, Winter?"

"I know a few corpses that would like to try. But what is up, sir? I have
not often seen you in need of stimulants."

"I am most unfeignedly glad to give you the opportunity. Winter, suppose,
some time to-morrow, you were told that the body