many of the old night-hawks were still in possession. His
astonishment, therefore, was considerable when, upon dropping into the
first of the passages, a figure sprang up and clutched him by the
throat, while a hand thrust a lantern into his face and a pair of black
eyes regarded him with amazed curiosity.

"A slap-up toff, so help me Jimmy! And what may your Royal Highness be
doing this way--what brings you to this pretty parlor? Now, speak up, my
lad, or it will go queer with you."

Alban knew in an instant--his long experience taught him--that he had
fallen into the hands of the police, and his first alarms were very
real.

"What right have you to question me?"

"Oh, we'll show our right sharp enough. Now, you be brisk--what's your
name and what are you doing here?"

"I am the son of Mr. Richard Gessner of Hampstead and I used to know
this place. I came down to have a look at it before the building is
finished. If you doubt me, let us go to Mr. Gessner's house together and
he will tell you who I am."

It was a proud thing to say and he said it with pride. That thrill of
satisfaction which attends a fine declaration of identity came to Alban
then as it has done to many a great man in the hour of his vanity. The
son of Richard Gessner--yes, his patron would acknowledge him for that!
The police themselves admitted the title by almost instant capitulation.

"Well, sir, it's a queer place to come to, I must say, and not very safe
either for a gentleman in your position. Why didn't you ask one of us to
bring you down? We'd have done it right enough, though not to-night
perhaps."

"Then you're out on business?"

"You couldn't have guessed better, sir. We're here with the nets and
there will be herrings to salt in the morning. If you care to wait five
minutes, you may look into the bundle. Here's two or three of them
coming along now and fine music they're making, I must say. Just step
aside a minute, sir, while we give a hand. That's a woman's voice and
she's not been to the Tabernacle. I shouldn't wonder if it was the
flower girl that hobnobs with the parson--oh, by no means, oh dear, no."

He raised his lantern and turned the light of it full on the passage,
disclosing a spectacle which brought a flush of warm blood to Alban's
cheeks and filled him with a certain sense of shame he could not defend.
For there were three of his old friends, no others than Sarah and the
Archbishop of Bloomsbury with the boy "Bett