ey. But," he added, "be extremely
careful. Disclose nothing you know concerning the affair."

"I shall be discreet, never fear," replied his visitor.

A moment later The Sparrow entered the room where Henfrey was, and
greeted him warmly. Then he ushered him down the passage to the room
wherein stood his mysterious visitor.

The room was such a distance away that Hugh was surprised that he could
have heard so distinctly. But, after all, it was an uncanny experience
to be associated with that man of mystery, whose very name was uttered
by his accomplices with bated breath.

"My friend, Mr. George Howell," said The Sparrow, introducing the slim,
wiry-looking, middle-aged man, who was alert and clean-shaven, and
plainly but well dressed--a man whom the casual acquaintance would take
to be a solicitor of a fair practice. He bore the stamp of suburbia all
over him, and his accent was peculiarly that of London.

His bearing was that of high respectability. The diamond scarf-pin was
his only ornament--a fine one, which sparkled even in that dull London
light. He was a square-shouldered man, with peculiarly shrewd, rather
narrow eyes, and dark, bushy eyebrows.

"Glad to meet you, Mr. Henfrey," he replied, with a gay, rather
nonchalant air. "My friend Mr. Peters has been speaking about you. Had a
rather anxious time, I hear."

Henfrey looked at the stranger inquisitively, and then glanced at The
Sparrow.

"Mr. Howell is quite safe," declared the man with the gloved hand. "He
is one of Us. So you may speak without fear."

"Well," replied the young man, "the fact is, I've had a very
apprehensive time. I'm here to seek Mr. Peters' kind advice, for without
him I'm sure I'd have been arrested and perhaps convicted long ago."

"Oh! A bit of bad luck--eh? Nearly found out, have you been? Ah! All of
us have our narrow escapes. I've had many in my time," and he grinned.

"So have all of us," laughed the bristly-haired man. "But tell me,
Henfrey, why have you come to see me so quickly?"

"Because they know where I'm in hiding!"

"They know? Who knows?"

"Miss Ranscomb knows my whereabouts and has written to me in my real
name and addressed the letter to Shapley."

"Well, what of that?" he asked. "I told her."

"She tells me that my present hiding-place is known!"

"Not known to the police? _Impossible_!" gasped the black-gloved man.

"I take it that such is a fact."

"Why, Molly is there!" cried the man Howell. "If t