o applied to him did so in vain; hence the pile
of begging letters from charitable institutions and private individuals
that invariably greeted his arrival at his office. I had not been
waiting more than five minutes before I heard an active step upon the
stone flagging of the passage outside. The handle of the door was
sharply turned, and the man for whom I was waiting entered the room.

"My dear Cyril," he cried, advancing toward me with outstretched hand,
"this is indeed a pleasure! It is now some weeks since I last saw you,
but, on the other hand, I have heard of you. The fame of your picture is
in every one's mouth."

"Every one is very kind," I replied, "but I am afraid in this instance
the public says rather more than it means."

"Not a bit of it," answered my friend. "That reminds me, however, that
there is one point in the picture about which I want to talk to you."

"At any other time I shall be delighted," I replied, "but to-day, Sir
George, I have something else to say to you. I have come to you because
I am very much worried."

"Now that I look at you I can see you are not quite the thing," he said.
"But what is this worry? Tell me about it, for you know if I can help
you I shall be only too glad to do so."

"I have come to seek your advice in a rather strange matter," I replied,
"and before I begin I must ask that everything I say shall remain in the
strictest confidence between us."

"I will give you that promise willingly," he said, "and I think you know
me well enough to feel certain I shall keep it. Now let me hear your
troubles."

"In the first place I want you to tell me all you know of an
extraordinary individual who has been seen a good deal in London society
of late. I refer to a man named Pharos."

While I had been speaking Sir George had seated himself in the chair
before his writing-table. On hearing my question, however, he sprang to
his feet with an exclamation that was as startling as it was unexpected.
It did not exactly indicate surprise, nor did it express annoyance or
curiosity; yet it seemed to partake of all three. It was his face,
however, that betrayed the greatest change. A moment before it had
exhibited the ruddiness of perfect health, now it was ashen pale.

"Pharos?" he cried. Then, recovering his composure a little, he added,
"My dear Forrester, what can you possibly want with him?"

"I want to know all you can tell me about him," I replied gravely. "It
is the great