keney gruffly.
"I know the citizen for whom it is intended. He would not like the
concierge to see it."

"Oh! I would not give it to the concierge," said the boy. "I would take
it upstairs myself."

"My son," retorted Blakeney, "let me tell you this. You are going to
give that message up to me and I will put five whole livres into your
hand."

Blakeney, with all his sympathy aroused for this poor pale-faced lad,
put on the airs of a ruffianly bully. He did not wish that message to
be taken indoors by the lad, for the concierge might get hold of it,
despite the boy's protests and tears, and after that Blakeney would
perforce have to disclose himself before it would be given up to him.
During the past week the concierge had been very amenable to bribery.
Whatever suspicions he had had about his lodger he had kept to himself
for the sake of the money which he received; but it was impossible to
gauge any man's trend of thought these days from one hour to the next.
Something--for aught Blakeney knew--might have occurred in the past
twenty-four hours to change an amiable and accommodating lodging-house
keeper into a surly or dangerous spy.

Fortunately, the concierge had once more gone within; there was no one
abroad, and if there were, no one probably would take any notice of a
burly ruffian brow-beating a child.

"Allons!" he said gruffly, "give me the letter, or that five livres goes
back into my pocket."

"Five livres!" exclaimed the child with pathetic eagerness. "Oh,
citizen!"

The thin little hand fumbled under the rags, but it reappeared again
empty, whilst a faint blush spread over the hollow cheeks.

"The other citizen also gave me five livres," he said humbly. "He lodges
in the house where my mother is concierge. It is in the Rue de la Croix
Blanche. He has been very kind to my mother. I would rather do as he
bade me."

"Bless the lad," murmured Blakeney under his breath; "his loyalty
redeems many a crime of this God-forsaken city. Now I suppose I shall
have to bully him, after all."

He took his hand out of his breeches pocket; between two very dirty
fingers he held a piece of gold. The other hand he placed quite roughly
on the lad's chest.

"Give me the letter," he said harshly, "or--"

He pulled at the ragged blouse, and a scrap of soiled paper soon fell
into his hand. The lad began to cry.

"Here," said Blakeney, thrusting the piece of gold into the thin small
palm, "take this home to your mo