ss
from end to end of its squalid length and hear scarce a word of English.
Yiddish is the language most favoured by its cosmopolitan population,
although one may hear now and again Polish, Russian, or German. In its
barrack-like houses, rising sheer from the pavement, a chain of tenancy
obtains, ranging from the actual householder to the tenant of half a
room, who sublets corners of the meagre space on terms payable strictly
in advance. A score of people will herd together in a room a few feet
square, and never realise that they are cramped for space.

Here you will find petty thieves, versatile rascals ripe for any
mischief, and sweated factory workers; here sallow-faced anarchists
boldly denounce the existing order of things to their fellows and scheme
the millennium. Slatternly women quarrel at the doors, and horse-flesh
is a staple article of diet.

The neatly dressed Fairfield descending at the end of the street from
his taxicab was as conspicuous among the unshaven idlers who hung about
the pavements as the moon among the stars.

Sir Ralph picked his way towards a newspaper shop, his mind full of the
message that had brought him to the spot. The letter delivered by the
messenger had contained but a few words in printed characters.

"If you would learn the truth about the murder in Grosvenor
Gardens, come immediately to No. -- Grave Street."

There was no signature, no clue to the identity of the writer. Fairfield
had leapt at the chance to do something. Even if it were a hoax it would
occupy his mind for a time, and take his thoughts away from the sinister
shadow that overhung him. Somehow, however, he did not think it was a
hoax.

The newspaper shop displayed the number given in the note on its grimy
facia. The baronet, as he moved towards it, was unconscious of the
slouching figure of the labourer, who had been selling matches near the
Albany, a few paces behind him. His foot was on the threshold of the
shop when a man, black-bearded and swarthy, pressed an envelope into his
hand.

Foyle watched the incident and his pace quickened. Before Fairfield had
time to do more than glance at the inscription of the envelope he was
abreast. He lurched inward and his fingers snatched quickly at the note.
The next instant he was running with long, even strides for the open of
the main road.

It was barefaced robbery, of course, but he had not the inclination to
stick at trifles. That the note had some be