d welcome."

And so saying, the Dictator arose from the bench, and marched off in the
direction of Montmartre, shaking his head and swinging his cane with a
most furious air; while his companion remained where he was, in an
attitude of great dejection.

Francis was at the pitch of surprise and horror; his sentiments had been
shocked to the last degree; the hopeful tenderness with which he had
taken his place upon the bench was transformed into repulsion and
despair; old Mr. Scrymgeour, he reflected, was a far more kindly and
creditable parent than this dangerous and violent intriguer; but he
retained his presence of mind, and suffered not a moment to elapse
before he was on the trail of the Dictator.

That gentleman's fury carried him forward at a brisk pace, and he was so
completely occupied in his angry thoughts that he never so much as cast
a look behind him till he reached his own door.

His house stood high up in the Rue Lepic, commanding a view of all
Paris, and enjoying the pure air of the heights. It was two stories
high, with green blinds and shutters; and all the windows looking on the
street were hermetically closed. Tops of trees showed over the high
garden wall, and the wall was protected by _chevaux-de-frise_. The
Dictator paused a moment while he searched his pocket for a key; and
then, opening a gate, disappeared within the enclosure.

Francis looked about him; the neighbourhood was very lonely, the house
isolated in its garden. It seemed as if his observation must here come
to an abrupt end. A second glance, however, showed him a tall house next
door presenting a gable to the garden, and in this gable a single
window. He passed to the front and saw a ticket offering unfurnished
lodgings by the month; and, on inquiry, the room which commanded the
Dictator's garden proved to be one of those to let. Francis did not
hesitate a moment; he took the room, paid an advance upon the rent, and
returned to his hotel to seek his baggage.

The old man with the sabre-cut might or might not be his father; he
might or he might not be upon the true scent; but he was certainly on
the edge of an exciting mystery, and he promised himself that he would
not relax his observation until he had got to the bottom of the secret.

From the window of his new apartment Francis Scrymgeour commanded a
complete view into the garden of the house with the green blinds.
Immediately below him a very comely chestnut with wide boughs s