st what he wants to do."

"Why is he doing it!" she asked.

T. X. made a gesture of despair.

"That is one of the mysteries which may never be revealed to me,
except--" he pursed his lips and looked thoughtfully at the girl. "There
are times," he said, "when there is a great struggle going on inside
a man between all the human and better part of him and the baser
professional part of him. One side of me wants to hear this lecture of
John Lexman's very much, the other shrinks from the ordeal."

"Let us talk it over at lunch," she said practically, and carried him
off.

CHAPTER XIX

One would not readily associate the party of top-booted sewermen who
descend nightly to the subterranean passages of London with the stout
viceconsul at Durazzo. Yet it was one unimaginative man who lived in
Lambeth and had no knowledge that there was such a place as Durazzo who
was responsible for bringing this comfortable official out of his bed in
the early hours of the morning causing him--albeit reluctantly and with
violent and insubordinate language--to conduct certain investigations in
the crowded bazaars.

At first he was unsuccessful because there were many Hussein Effendis
in Durazzo. He sent an invitation to the American Consul to come over to
tiffin and help him.

"Why the dickens the Foreign Office should suddenly be interested in
Hussein Effendi, I cannot for the life of me understand."

"The Foreign Department has to be interested in something, you know,"
said the genial American. "I receive some of the quaintest requests
from Washington; I rather fancy they only wire you to find if they are
there."

"Why are you doing this!"

"I've seen Hakaat Bey," said the English official. "I wonder what
this fellow has been doing? There is probably a wigging for me in the
offing."

At about the same time the sewerman in the bosom of his own family was
taking loud and noisy sips from a big mug of tea.

"Don't you be surprised," he said to his admiring better half, "if I
have to go up to the Old Bailey to give evidence."

"Lord! Joe!" she said with interest, "what has happened!"

The sewer man filled his pipe and told the story with a wealth of
rambling detail. He gave particulars of the hour he had descended the
Victoria Street shaft, of what Bill Morgan had said to him as they were
going down, of what he had said to Harry Carter as they splashed along
the low-roofed tunnel, of how he had a funny feeling that he was