re how Hippus will take it, I
am inclined to believe it will perplex him. That may help you on. I will
see, too, that the first search be clumsily and ostentatiously made.
Fortunately, he has now a settled abode again; for some time he has had
a respite from us, and has grown bold. I hear, too, that he is getting
old and feeble. All this may help you to catch Itzig one way or other."

This decision come to, Anton had to retire.

CHAPTER XLI.

It was a dark November evening; a fog lay heavily on the town, filling
the old streets and squares, and forcing its way into the houses. It
gathered round the street-lanterns, which looked like dull red balls,
and gave no light a yard off. It hung over the river, rolled along the
black stream, under the bridge, up the steps, and clung to the wooden
pillars of the gallery. At times there would be a rift in its masses,
through which the inky stream below became visible, flowing like the
river of death along the dwellings of men.

The streets were empty. Here and there, close to a light, a form would
be seen to emerge, and then suddenly to disappear. One of these shadows
was a short man with a stoop, who unsteadily struggled onward as fast as
he could. He tottered into the court where Itzig's office was, and
looked up at the agent's windows. The curtains were drawn, but there was
a glimmer of light to be seen through them. The little man tried to
stand firm, stared at the light, clenched his fists at it, and then
going up the steps, rang once, twice, thrice. At length a muffled
footstep was heard, the door was opened, and the little man, entering,
ran through the ante-room, which Itzig shut behind him. Itzig looked
still paler than his wont, and his eyes glanced unsteadily at his
untimely guest. Hippus had never been a model of manly beauty, but
to-day he was positively uncanny. His features were sunken, a mixture of
fear and insolence sat on his ugly face, and his eyes looked maliciously
over his spectacles at his former scholar. Evidently he had been drunk;
but some feverish terror had seized him, and for a moment neutralized
the effects of the brandy.

"They are on me," he cried, grasping recklessly at empty air; "they are
on the look-out for me!"

"Who would look out for you?" asked Itzig. But he knew only too well.

"The police, you villain!" shrieked the old man. "It is on your account
that I am in trouble. I dare not go home; you must hide me."

"We are not com