ere," said Mr. Greyne, lowering his voice, "with a
purpose.".

"You wish to see the Belle Fatma. I will arrange it. She receives every
evening in her house in the Rue ------"

"One minute! One minute! You said the something 'Fatma'?"

"The Belle Fatma, the most beautiful woman of Africa. She receives
every----"

"Pardon me! One moment! Is this lady----"

Mr. Greyne paused.

"Sir?" said Alphonso, settling his Spanish neck-tie, and gazing steadily
towards Marseilles.

"Is this lady--well, sinful?"

Alphonso threw up his hands with a wild Asiatic gesture.

"Sinful! La Belle Fatma! She is a lady of the utmost respectability
known to all the town. You go to her house at eight, you take coffee
upon the red sofas, you talk with La Belle, you see the dances and hear
the music. Do not fear, sir; it is good, it is respectable as England,
your country----"

"If it is respectable I don't want to see it," interposed Mr. Greyne.
"It would be a waste of time."

The clerk lifted his head from the ledger, and Alphonso, by means of
standing with his back almost square to Mr. Greyne, and looking over his
right shoulder, succeeded at length in fixing his eye upon him.

"I have not travelled here to see respectable things," continued Mr.
Greyne, with a slight blush. "Quite the contrary."

"Sir?"

The voice of Alphonso seemed to have changed, to have taken on a hard,
almost a menacing tone. Mr. Greyne thought of his beloved wife, of
Merrin's exercise-books, and clenched his hands, endeavouring to feel,
and to go on, like a militiaman.

"Quite the contrary," he repeated firmly; "my object in coming to Africa
is to--to search about in the Kasbah, and the disrep----"

He choked, recovered himself, and continued: "Disreputable quarters of
Algiers--hem------"

"What for, sir?"

The voice of Alphonso was certainly changed.

"What for?" said Mr. Greyne, growing purple. "For frailty."

"Sir?"

"For frailty--for wickedness."

A slight cackle emanated from the ledger, but immediately died away. A
dead silence reigned in the office, broken only by the distant sound of
the sea, and by the hard breathing of Alphonso, who had suddenly begun
to pant.

"I wish to go to all the wicked places--_all!_"

The ledger cackled again more audibly. Mr. Greyne felt a prickling
sensation run over him, but the thought of "Catherine" nerved him to
his awful task.

"It is my wife's express desire that I should do so," he added
desperate