ded to accept his invitation. I don't know when we may actually be
in Europe, but I promise you that as soon as we touch a suitable port I
will write to you again, making an appointment for you to see me in
London. But remember that if your demands are too preposterous I will
not for a moment listen to them, and that I am the last man in the world
to submit to persistent and unwarrantable blackmail.

'I am, sir,
'Yours truly,
'Francis Smethurst.'

"The second letter was dated from Southampton," continued the old man in
the corner calmly, "and, curiously enough, was the only letter which
Kershaw professed to have received from Smethurst of which he had kept
the envelope, and which was dated. It was quite brief," he added,
referring once more to his piece of paper.

"'Dear Sir,--Referring to my letter of a few weeks ago, I wish to inform
you that the _Tsarskoe Selo_ will touch at Tilbury on Tuesday next, the
10th. I shall land there, and immediately go up to London by the first
train I can get. If you like, you may meet me at Fenchurch Street
Station, in the first-class waiting-room, in the late afternoon. Since I
surmise that after thirty years' absence my face may not be familiar to
you, I may as well tell you that you will recognize me by a heavy
Astrakhan fur coat, which I shall wear, together with a cap of the same.
You may then introduce yourself to me, and I will personally listen to
what you may have to say.

'Yours faithfully,
'Francis Smethurst.'

"It was this last letter which had caused William Kershaw's excitement
and his wife's tears. In the German's own words, he was walking up and
down the room like a wild beast, gesticulating wildly, and muttering
sundry exclamations. Mrs. Kershaw, however, was full of apprehension.
She mistrusted the man from foreign parts--who, according to her
husband's story, had already one crime upon his conscience--who might,
she feared, risk another, in order to be rid of a dangerous enemy.
Woman-like, she thought the scheme a dishonourable one, for the law, she
knew, is severe on the blackmailer.

"The assignation might be a cunning trap, in any case it was a curious
one; why, she argued, did not Smethurst elect to see Kershaw at his
hotel the following day? A thousand whys and wherefores made her
anxious, but the fat German had been won over by Kershaw's visions of
untold gold, held tantalisingly before his eyes. He had lent the
necessary L