report upon his
habits. He had visited the great ship-building yard, had made a hundred
inquiries in Thrawl Street and the Commercial Road, had tracked his
quarry to the Caves and carried his news thereafter triumphantly to
Hampstead and his employer. To-night his purpose was otherwise. He
sought not gossip but a man, and that man now appeared before him upon
the pavement, his hands thrust deep into his pockets, his head bent, his
attitude that of utter dejection and despair.

"Mr. Kennedy, if you please."

The stranger spoke beneath the shadow of a great lamp in the Charing
Cross Road. Not hearing him immediately, Alban had arrived at the next
lamp before the earnest entreaty arrested him and found him erect and
watchful in a moment.

"I beg your pardon, sir; you are Mr. Kennedy, are you not?"

"My name, at least the half of it."

"Mr. Alban Kennedy, shall we say. I have been looking for you for three
days, sir. It is not often that I search three days for anybody when his
house is known. Forgive me, it is not my fault that there has been a
delay."

Alban knew no more than the man in the moon what he was driving at, and
he thought it must be all a mistake.

"What's it all about, old chap?" he exclaimed, falling into the manners
of the street. "Why have you been hurrying yourself on my account?"

"To give you this letter, sir, and to ask you to accompany me."

Alban whistled, but took the note nevertheless and tore it open with
trembling fingers. He thought that he recognized the handwriting, but
was not sure. When he had read the letter through, he turned to the man
and said that he would go with him.

"Then I will call a hansom, sir."

The detective blew a shrill whistle, and a hansom immediately tried to
cannon an omnibus, and succeeding came skidding to the pavement. The two
men entered without a word to each other; but to the driver the
direction was Hampstead Heath. He, wise merchant, demurred with chosen
phrase of weight, until a fare was named and then lashed his horse
triumphantly.

"My lucky's in," he cried to a friend upon another box, "it's a quid if
I ain't bilked."

Alban meanwhile took a cigarette from a paper packet, and asked his
companion for a light. When he struck it an observer would have noticed
that his hand was still shaking.

"Did you go down yonder?" he asked, indicating generally the
neighborhood east of Aldgate.

"Searched every coffee shop in Whitechapel, sir."

"Ah, y