ide, when a lady in black will approach you and
ask news of me. In response you will give her this note. But there is a
further condition. You may be watched and recognised. Therefore, be
extremely careful that you are not followed on that day, and, above all,
adopt some effective disguise. Go there dressed as a working man, I would
suggest."

Very strange was that request of his. It filled me with eager curiosity.
What should I learn from the mysterious woman in black who was to come to
me for a message from my fugitive friend.

Had he already contemplated flight when he had addressed the note to her
and made the appointment, I wondered.

If so, the crime at Harrington Gardens must have been premeditated.

I recollected, too, those strange, prophetic words which my friend had
afterwards uttered, namely:

"I want you to give me your promise, Royle. I ask you to make a solemn
vow to me that if any suspicion arises within your mind, that you will
believe nothing without absolute and decisive proof. I mean, that you
will not misjudge her."

By "her" he had indicated the lady whose initials were "E. P. K."

It was certainly mysterious, and my whole mind was centred upon the
affair that day.

As I stood before my glass at seven o'clock that evening, I presented a
strange, uncanny figure, dressed as I was in a shabby suit which I had
obtained during the day from a theatrical costumier's in Covent Garden.

Haines, to whom I had invented a story that I was about to play a
practical joke, stood by much amused at my appearance.

"Well, sir," he exclaimed; "you look just like a bricklayer's labourer!"

The faded suit, frayed at the wrists and elbows, had once been grey, but
it was now patched, brown, smeared with plaster, and ingrained with white
dust, as was the ragged cap; while the trousers were ragged at the knees
and bottoms. Around my neck was a dirty white scarf and in my hand I
carried a tin tea-bottle as though I had just returned from work.

"Yes," I remarked, regarding myself critically. "Not even Miss Shand
would recognise me--eh, Haines?"

"No, sir. I'm sure she wouldn't. But you'll have to dirty your face and
hands a bit. Your hands will give you away if you're not careful."

"Yes. I can't wear gloves, can I?" I remarked.

Thereupon, I went to the grate and succeeded in rubbing ashes over my
hands and applying some of it to my cheeks--hardly a pleasant face
powder, I can assure you.

At a quarter t