did not catch. The words,
nevertheless, caused my companion to start, and, disregarding the
fresh whiskey and soda he had just ordered, he rose and walked out--an
example which I followed.

"Lanky sent me, sir," the old man said, addressing Ambler, when we
were out in the street. "He couldn't come hisself. 'E said you'd like
to know the news."

"Of course, I was waiting for it," replied my companion, alert and
eager.

"Well," he said, "I suppose I'd better tell yer the truth at once,
sir."

"Certainly. What is it?"

"Well, Lanky's dead."

"Dead?" cried Ambler. "Impossible. I was waiting for him."

"I know. This morning in the Borough Market he told me to come 'ere
and find you, because he wasn't able to come. 'E had a previous
engagement. Lanky's engagements were always interestin'," he added,
with a grim smile.

"Well, go on," said Ambler, eagerly. "What followed?"

"'E told me to go down to Tait Street and see 'im at eight o'clock, as
'e had a message for you. I went, and when I got there I found 'im
lying on the floor of his room stone dead."

"You went to the police, of course?"

"No, I didn't; I came here to see you instead. I believe the poor
bloke's been murdered. 'E was a good un, too--poor Lanky Lane!"

"What!" I exclaimed. "Is that man Lane dead?"

"It seems so," Jevons responded. "If he is, then there we have further
mystery."

"If you doubt it, sir, come with me down to Shadwell," the old man
said in his cockney drawl. "Nobody knows about it yet. I ought to have
told the p'lice, but I know you're better at mysterious affairs than
the silly coppers in Leman Street."

Jevons' fame as an investigator of crime had spread even to that class
known as the submerged tenth. How fashions change! A year or two ago
it was the mode in Society to go "slumming." To-day only social
reformers and missionaries make excursions to the homes of the lower
class in East London. A society woman would not to-day dare admit that
she had been further east than Leadenhall Street.

"Let's go and see what has really happened," Ambler said to me. "If
Lane is dead, then it proves that his enemy is yours."

"I can't see that. How?" I asked.

"You will see later. For the moment we must occupy ourselves with his
death, and ascertain whether it is owing to natural causes or to foul
play. He was a heavy drinker, and it may have been that."

"No," declared the little old man, "Lanky wasn't drunk to-day--that
I'll swea