a chance----" he began, but the detective
interfered again.

"If only you would shut up!" he said emphatically. "I want your help,
and I'm not in the habit of rewarding my assistants by sending them
back to prison."

Maselli (as he may remain in this record) was so excited that he
literally could not obey.

"I've cut completely adrift from the old crowd, sir," he pleaded
wistfully. "I'm an engraver now, and in good work. Heaven help me, I'm
married, too. She doesn't know. She thinks I was stranded in America,
and that I changed my name because Italians are thought more of than
Englishmen in my line."

"Giovanni Maselli, may I ask what you are talking about?" said Winter,
stiffening visibly.

At last the hunted and haunted wretch persuaded himself that "the
Yard" meant to be merciful. Tears glistened in his eyes, but he
finished the whisky and soda and remained silent.

"Good!" said Winter more cheerfully. "I sha'n't call you Maselli again
if you don't behave. Now, how long have you lived in Gloucester
Mansions?"

"Four months, sir. Ever since my marriage."

Winter smiled. The man had gone straight from the gates of Portland to
some woman who was waiting for him! He was an old offender, but had
proved slippery as an eel--hence a stiff sentence when caught; but
penal servitude had conquered him.

"Has Miss Eileen Garth lived in No. Eleven during those four months?"
was the next question.

"Yes, sir--two years or more, I believe. Her mother mentioned
something of it to my wife one day."

"Her mother? Same name?"

"Yes, Mrs. Garth."

"How do they live?"

"The daughter was learning to be a stage dancer; but they've come into
a settled income, and that idea is given up."

"Any male relations?"

"None that I know of, sir. Eileen is engaged to be married. I haven't
heard the gentleman's name, but I've seen him scores of times."

"Scores of times--in four months?"

"Yes, sir, every second or third day. That is, I either meet him or
know he is there because Mrs. Maselli and Mrs. Garth are friendly, and
there is constant coming and going across the landing."

"Is he a man of about thirty, middle height, lanky black hair, smooth
dark face, sunken eyes, high cheek bones--rather, shall I say, Italian
in appearance?"

Maselli was surprised, and showed it.

"Why, sir, you've described him to a nicety," he said.

"Very well. Next time he is there to your absolute knowledge, slip out
and telephone the fac