ing his
evening meal, and the sight of these homely delicacies reminded me that
I was tired and hungry and that a cup of tea would be refreshing. Eric
carried his steak and three-cornered loaf jauntily, and every now and
then broke into a sweet low whistle that reminded me of his nickname
among his mates of 'Jack the Whistler.'

We were threading the labyrinth of streets that lie behind Bishop's Road
Station; I was beginning to feel weary and discouraged, when Eric stopped
suddenly before a neat-looking house of two stories, with very bright
geraniums in the parlour window, and taking out his latch-key let himself
in, and closed the door with a bang.

I stalked carelessly to the end of the street, and read the name. 'No. 25
Madison Street,' I said to myself, and then I went up to the door and
knocked boldly. My time had come now, I thought, trying to pull myself
together, for I felt decidedly nervous.

A stout, oldish woman with rather a pleasant face opened the door; her
arms were bare, and she dried her hands on her apron as she asked me my
business.

'Your lodger Jack Poynter has just come in,' I said quietly. 'I have a
message for him. Can I see him, please?'

'Oh ay,--you can see him surely.' And she stepped back into the passage
and called out, 'Jack, Jack! here is a young woman wants to speak to
you.' But I shut the door hurriedly and interrupted her:

'Let me go up to his room: you can tell me where it is'; for it never
would do to speak to him in the passage.

'Well, perhaps he may be washing and brushing himself a bit after his
journey,' she returned good-humouredly: 'he is a tidy chap, is Jack. If
you go up to the top landing and knock at the second door, that is his
sitting-room; he sleeps at the back, and Sawyer has the other room.'

I followed these instructions, and knocked at the front-room door; but no
voice bade me come in; only a short bark and a scuffle of feet gave me
notice of the occupant: so I ventured to go in.

It was a tidy little room, and had a snug aspect. A white fox-terrier
with a pretty face retreated growling under a chair, but I coaxed her to
come out. The steak and the loaf were on the table. But I had no time for
any further observation, for a voice said, 'What are you barking at,
Jenny?' and the next moment Eric entered the room.

He started when he saw me caressing the dog.

'I beg your pardon for this intrusion,' I began nervously, for I saw I
was not recognised; 'but