, and along the Embankment in the direction of that part of Fleet
Street which contained Tanner's Court. The erect, black figure of Major
Brown, seen from behind, was a quaint contrast to the hound-like stoop
and flapping mantle of young Rupert Grant, who adopted, with childlike
delight, all the dramatic poses of the detective of fiction. The finest
among his many fine qualities was his boyish appetite for the colour and
poetry of London. Basil, who walked behind, with his face turned blindly
to the stars, had the look of a somnambulist.

Rupert paused at the corner of Tanner's Court, with a quiver of delight
at danger, and gripped Basil's revolver in his great-coat pocket.

"Shall we go in now?" he asked.

"Not get police?" asked Major Brown, glancing sharply up and down the
street.

"I am not sure," answered Rupert, knitting his brows. "Of course, it's
quite clear, the thing's all crooked. But there are three of us, and--"

"I shouldn't get the police," said Basil in a queer voice. Rupert
glanced at him and stared hard.

"Basil," he cried, "you're trembling. What's the matter--are you
afraid?"

"Cold, perhaps," said the Major, eyeing him. There was no doubt that he
was shaking.

At last, after a few moments' scrutiny, Rupert broke into a curse.

"You're laughing," he cried. "I know that confounded, silent, shaky
laugh of yours. What the deuce is the amusement, Basil? Here we are, all
three of us, within a yard of a den of ruffians--"

"But I shouldn't call the police," said Basil. "We four heroes are quite
equal to a host," and he continued to quake with his mysterious mirth.

Rupert turned with impatience and strode swiftly down the court, the
rest of us following. When he reached the door of No. 14 he turned
abruptly, the revolver glittering in his hand.

"Stand close," he said in the voice of a commander. "The scoundrel may
be attempting an escape at this moment. We must fling open the door and
rush in."

The four of us cowered instantly under the archway, rigid, except for
the old judge and his convulsion of merriment.

"Now," hissed Rupert Grant, turning his pale face and burning eyes
suddenly over his shoulder, "when I say 'Four', follow me with a rush.
If I say 'Hold him', pin the fellows down, whoever they are. If I say
'Stop', stop. I shall say that if there are more than three. If
they attack us I shall empty my revolver on them. Basil, have your
sword-stick ready. Now--one, two three, four!