ake me for
another man.' And before I could say another word he had stepped through
the open window.

I could have wrung my hands in despair. He had denied his own identity at
the very moment when his paleness and terror had proved it to me without
doubt. 'You take me for another man,' he had said; and yet I could have
sworn in a court of justice that he was Eric Hamilton; not only his face,
but his voice; his manner, told me he was Gladys's brother.

But he should not elude me like this, and I hurried downstairs,
determined to find my way into the empty house and confront him again.
The fastenings of the hall door gave me a little difficulty. I was afraid
Clayton would hear me, but I found myself outside at last, and in another
minute I was in the deserted drawing-room.

Alas! Eric was not there: only his paint-pot and brush lay on the balcony
outside. Surely he could not have escaped me in these few minutes; he
must be in one of the other rooms. At the top of the stairs I encountered
a young workman, and began questioning him at once.

'Well, this is a queer start,' he observed, in some perplexity. 'I saw
Jack only this moment: he wanted his jacket, for he said he had a summons
somewhere. I noticed he was palish, and seemed all of a shake, but he did
not answer when I called out to him.'

'Do you mean he has gone?' I asked, feeling ready to cry with
disappointment.

'Yes, he has gone right enough; but he'll be back presently, by the time
the governor comes round. I wonder what's up with Jack; he looked mighty
queer, as though the peelers were after him; in an awful funk, I should
say.'

'Will you do me a favour, my man?' and as I spoke a shining half-crown
changed hands rather quietly. 'I want to speak to your friend Jack
Poynter very particularly, but I am quite sure that he wishes to avoid
me. If he comes back, will you write a word on a slip of paper and throw
it on to the balcony of 64?--Just the words "At work now" will do, or any
direction that will find him. I am very much in earnest over this.'

The man looked at me and then at the half-crown. He had a good-humoured,
stupid-looking face, but was young enough to like an unusual job.

'It will be worth more than that to you to bring me face to face with
Jack Poynter, or to give me any news of him,' I continued. 'You do not
know where he lives, for example?'

'No: we are none of us his mates, except Fowler and Dunn, and they don't
know where he lodges