sat in one of the
green velvet chairs in his art-green sitting-room.

Contrary to his usual habit, he had not dressed, but still wore the
brown tweed suit which he had had on in the morning.

"You've brought what I asked you over the 'phone?" he inquired, as soon
as I entered.

"Yes," I replied, opening the well-worn leather brief bag which I
carried, and displaying a dark lantern, a coil of strong silk rope, and
a small but serviceable jemmy. All that burglarious outfit belonged to
my friend.

"Right," he exclaimed, stroking his smooth-shaven chin. "Have a pipe.
We'll leave here about ten. We are going to spend the night in Pont
Street." And he pointed to a silver flask and a paper of sandwiches upon
the sideboard. "Vera has seen the landlady in Stockwell, but can make
nothing of her. She's as deaf as a post. She returned home to Portsmouth
to-night."

We smoked together until ten, he consuming cigarette after cigarette in
that quick, nervous manner which showed the volcano of excitement raging
within him.

"I can't think why the mention of Weldon and Corby should have so
excited our friend this morning. To me it seemed as though he retained
rather bitter memories of the place."

"And there was a woman in the case, without a doubt."

"I think, Jack, I shall go down there and have a look round as soon as I
have a chance. From the ordnance map this place seems quite a small one.
The station is at Corby, while Little Weldon and Great Weldon are about
a mile distant."

"There's just a chance, of course, that you might pick up something
there," I remarked.

"And yet what I surmise leads me in entirely an opposite direction.
There are no defences or secrets in Northamptonshire, remember."

Once more he took from his writing-table the piece of paper whereon was
a copy of the strange array of figures found in the railway carriage at
Waterloo. But at last he shook his head and laid it aside with a sigh.
The mystery remained as complete as ever.

"There's a good deal that's suspicious about Hartmann. I suppose that's
why we are going to Pont Street?" I remarked.

"Yes. As I've explained, he's believed to be a money-lender with an
office in Cork Street, and is registered as such, in order that no one
should be surprised at the constant callers at his house. He receives
visits from all sorts and conditions of men--and women, but observation
which I have placed upon the house has convinced me that the majority of