is living."

"_Dame!_" muttered Lenoir, "he seems a precious difficult fellow to
approach."

"Yes, on that subject," responded Markby; "but he's genial and
agreeable enough if you introduce yourself by accident, as it were, and
chat upon social topics generally, without the vaguest reference to the
subject nearest your heart."

"How shall I ever lead him up to the point?"

"Easily. For instance, talk about art matters. Allude to your gallery
of sculpture. Ask him, is he fond of bas reliefs? Tell him of your
skill as a medallist."

"Medallist might put him on the scent, if he is so dreadfully wary,"
said Lenoir.

"No fear. He would never dream of such a thing. Medalling being a sort
of sister art to what most interests him, he would be sure to bite at
the chance. You lead him to your little underground snuggery, and once
there all need for his wonderful caution will be at an end."

"I see," said Lenoir, rubbing his hands. "But stay"--and here his face
grew a bit serious--"this fellow is faithful?"

"True as steel," responded Markby.

"That's right," said Lenoir, with a look that caused a twinge of
uneasiness to be felt by his companion, "for woe betide the man that
plays me false."

"No fear of this man--man, I call him, but he is in appearance at least
little more than a lad, although he was travelled all over the world."

Here Markby arose to move away.

"Stop a bit," said Lenoir. "I have forgotten to ask rather an important
detail."

"What is it?"

"The name of this fellow?"

"Jack Harkaway," was the reply.

CHAPTER XC.

MARKBY'S MISSIVE--ON THE WATCH!--"SMART FELLOW, MARKBY!"--MARKBY'S
MYRMIDON--THE SPY'S MISSION.

The Englishman Markby was gone before Pierre Lenoir could question him
further.

"Jack Harkaway?" exclaimed Lenoir; "I have heard that name before. Of
course; I remember now. But Markby speaks of him as a lad. Why, the
Harkaway that I remember must be a middle-aged man by now; besides,
what little I knew of Harkaway then would not show him to be a likely
man for my purpose."

Not long after this, as Lenoir was upon the point of rising and leaving
the cafe, a commissionaire or public messenger came up at a run with a
note in his hand.

"M'sieu Lenoir."

"_C'est moi._"

He took the note and found it to contain the following words, scribbled
boldly by Markby--

"They are now coming along in your direction. You will easily
recognise them--two youths in sailor