d when opportunity offered.

This amiable truce to curiosity, dictated by nature, was first broken by
the Archbishop, who did not possess my Lady Sarah's robust powers of
self-command. Passing Alban a cigar, he asked him a question which had
been upon his lips from the beginning.

"You are just returned from Poland, Kennedy?"

"I have been in England two months, reverence."

"But not at Hampstead, my dear boy, not at Hampstead, surely?"

"As you say, not at Hampstead, at least not at "Five Gables." Mr.
Gessner is away yachting; I read it in the newspapers."

"You read it in the newspapers. God bless me! do you mean to say that he
did not tell you himself?"

"He told me nothing. How could he? He hasn't got my address."

They all stared, open-eyed in wonder. Even the Lady Sarah had a question
to ask now.

"You're not back in Whitechapel again."

"True as gold. I am living in Union Street, and going to be married."

"To be married; who's the lidy?"

"That's what I want to know; perhaps it would be little red-haired Chris
Denholm. I can't exactly tell you, Sarah."

"Here none of that--you're pullin'--"

Sarah caught the Archbishop's frown, and corrected herself adroitly.

"It ain't true, Mr. Kennedy, is it now?"

"God knows, Sarah, I don't. I'm earning two pounds a week in a motor
shop and living in the old ken by Union Street. Mr. Gessner has left the
country and his daughter is married to Willy Forrest. I hope she'll like
him. They'll make a pretty pair in a crow's nest. Pass the stout and
let's drink to 'em. I must be off directly; if I don't walk home, it'll
be pneumonia or something equally pleasant. But I'm glad to see you all,
you know it, and I wish you luck from the bottom of my heart."

He took a long drink from a newly opened bottle and claiming his coat
passed out as mysteriously as he had come. The watchman said that a man
waited for him upon the pavement, but his information seemed vague. The
others continued to discuss him until weariness overtook them and they
slept where they lay. His going had taken a friend away from them, and
their friends were few enough, God knows!

CHAPTER XXXI

THE MAN UPON THE PAVEMENT

A well-meaning stage-door keeper for once had told the plain truth and
there had been a man upon the pavement when Alban quitted the Regent
Theatre.

Little more than six months ago, this identical fellow had been
commissioned by Richard Gessner to seek Alban out and