institution, I can assure you that it was
only through the most unforeseen and remarkable ingenuity on your cousin's
part that it occurred.

"Trusting that I may soon be able to inform you of his recovery, I am,
yours very truly,

"ADOLPHUS S. CONGLETON.

Their ardour was, if possible, increased by Dr Congleton's letter. Mr
Beveridge was almost certainly in London, and they knew now that they must
look for a clean-shaved man. Two private inquiry detectives were at work;
and on their own account they had mapped the likeliest parts of London
into beats, visiting every bar and restaurant in turn, and occasionally
hanging about stations and the stopping-places for 'buses.

It was dreadfully hard work, and after four days of it, even Welsh began
to get a little sickened.

"Hang it," he said in the evening, "I haven't had a decent dinner since we
came back. Mr Bunker can go to the devil for to-night, I'm going to dine
decently. I'm sick of going round pubs, and not even stopping to have a
drink."

"So am I," replied Twiddel, cordially; "where shall we go?"

"The Cafe Maccarroni," suggested Welsh; "we can't afford a West-end place,
and they give one a very decent dinner there."

The Cafe Maccarroni in Holborn is nominally of foreign
extraction,--certainly the waiters and the stout proprietor come from
sunnier lands,--and many of the diners you can hear talking in strange
tongues, with quick gesticulations. But for the most part they are
respectable citizens of London, who drink Chianti because it stimulates
cheaply and not unpleasantly. The white-painted room is bright and clean
and seldom very crowded, the British palate can be tickled with tolerable
joints and cutlets, and the foreign with gravy-covered odds and ends.
Altogether, it may be recommended to such as desire to dine comfortably
and not too conspicuously.

The hour at which the two friends entered was later than most of the
_habitues_ dine, and they had the room almost to themselves. They faced
each other across a small table beside the wall, and very soon the
discomforts of their researches began to seem more tolerable.

"We'll catch him soon, old man," said Welsh, smiling more affably than he
had smiled since they came back. "A day or two more of this kind of work
and even London won't be able to conceal him any longer."

"Dash it, we must," replied Twiddel, bravely. "We'll show old Congleton
how to