st, and cast a fond look at the residence of the
Lord Mayor.

"He won't come out," he murmured; "none of them will, the cowards. Not
even an alderman."

[Illustration: "THEN HE CAME TO ST. PAUL'S."]

Then, after looking about him for a time--why, oh! why, were not the
suspicions of some policeman excited by our strange proceedings?--he
suddenly exclaimed, to my great joy:

"I am afraid it is no good. We shall have to give it up for to-night;
they are all in hiding, every one of them. To be sure, I might pick off
some stranger, and take my chance, but it is hardly good enough. I
should waste myself."

This was the pleasantest speech he had yet made, but his next was not so
agreeable.

"After all," he said, turning to me, "I don't think I could get anybody
better than you. You are a rather distinguished novelist, and the fact
that you write stories of crime would make it sound remarkable. What do
you say?"

I was almost too frightened to say anything. I was trembling all over,
for in a moment that dreadful hand might leap out of that dreadful
pocket, and my fate would be sealed. But, happily, my imagination once
more came to my aid.

"It is not a bad idea," I replied; "but I think you could do better.
Don't be in a hurry--there are plenty of distinguished people about, but
not at so late an hour as when you called on me last night. Come a
little earlier to-night, say at ten o'clock, and we'll see if we can't
find a Prince. I know them all by sight, and will point one out to you,
a good one. Of course, if you can't get anybody better, you can shoot
me."

[Illustration: "'THANK YOU,' HE SAID."]

"Thank you," he said, and for the first time he drew his hand out of
that horrible pocket of his, and grasped my own. "It is a good idea.
To-night then it shall be, at ten o'clock. Good morning."

I could hardly believe my senses when I saw the dreadful creature slowly
making his way towards Cheapside. But, indeed, my senses were failing
me. I turned giddy, and staggered against a lamp-post, where presently I
was found by a wandering policeman.

I put my hand to my throat, for I felt choking.

"Stop him, stop him!" I cried. "He has got a revolver--he is a
murderer--he----"

But the miserable constable took no notice of my warning. He only took
me by the arm, and, turning his bull's eye and a suspicious glance upon
my countenance, said:

"Here, you had better go home quietly, sir. I suppose you have been
dining