had been required
for some hours past and nobody had known where I might be. That day, it
seemed, just before Wareham had left his Bishopsgate Street office, he
had received a visit from a most singular-looking little Frenchman, who
had presented one of Maitre Labori's visiting cards and requested an
interview with M. Zola. Questioned as to his business, the only
explanation he would give was that he had with him a document in a sealed
envelope which he must place in M. Zola's own hands. Wareham had wired to
me on the matter, but owing to my absence from home had of course
received no reply. Then, on reaching Wimbledon, he had called on me and
found me out. And, finally, he had gone down to Oatlands and had there
seen M. Zola, who had handed him a note authorising Maitre Labori's
messenger to call at the hotel on the morrow. However, the messenger and
his manners had seemed very suspicious to Wareham--as, indeed, they
afterwards seemed to me--and the question arose, was he a genuine envoy,
was the writing on Maitre Labori's card perchance a forgery, and what was
the document in a sealed envelope which was to be handed to nobody but M.
Zola himself? Well, said I at a guess, perhaps it is a copy of the
Versailles judgment, and this is simply an impudent attempt to serve it.

Wareham still had Zola's note in his possession, and we resolved to go to
town that evening to interview the messenger and extract from him some
decisive proof of his bona fides before allowing matters to go any
further.

The envoy's address was the Salisbury Hotel, Salisbury Court, Fleet
Street, which I thought a curious one, being in the very centre of the
London newspaper district; and all the way up to town my suspicions of
having to do with a 'plant' steadily increased. It was quite ten o'clock
when we reached the hotel, and on inquiring for our party found that he
had gone to bed.

'Well,' said Wareham, sharply, 'he must be roused. We must see him at
once.'

I spoke to the same effect, and the hotel servants looked rather
surprised. I have an idea that they fancied we had come to arrest the
man.

In about ten minutes he was brought downstairs. His appearance was most
unprepossessing. He was very short, with a huge head and a remarkable
shock of coal-black hair. Having hastily risen from bed, he had retained
his pyjamas, but a long frock-coat hung nearly to his slippers, and in
one hand he carried a pair of gloves, and in the other a huge e