solved to give his mind to meditation. Just
then the City clocks pealed forth the hour of four o'clock.

This is perhaps the quietest hour of the twenty-four in London. Before
this most of the latest revellers have gone home, and few of the early
risers are moving.

There was one active mind at work at that hour, however--namely, that of
Gorman--who, after recovering from the blow given him by Dale, went to
his own home on the banks of the Thames, in the unaristocratic locality
of London Bridge.

Gorman owned a small boat, and did various kinds of business with it.
But Gorman's occupations were numerous and not definite. He was
everything by turns, and nothing long. When visible to the outward eye
(and that wasn't often), his chief occupations were loafing about and
drinking. On the present occasion he drank a good deal more than usual,
and lay down to sleep, vowing vengeance against firemen in general, and
Dale in particular.

Two or three hours later he awoke, and leaving his house, crossed London
Bridge, and wended his way back to the scene of the fire without any
definite intention, but with savage desires in his breast. He reached
it just at that point where Joe Corney had seated himself to meditate,
as above described.

Joe's powers of meditation were not great at any time. At that
particular time they were exerted in vain, for his head began to sway
backward and forward and to either side, despite his best efforts to the
contrary.

Waiting in the shadow of a doorway until the policeman should pass out
of sight and hearing, and cautiously stepping over the debris that
encumbered the threshold of the burnt house, Gorman peeped into the
room, where the light told him that some one kept watch. Great was his
satisfaction and grim his smile when he saw that a stalwart fireman sat
there apparently asleep. Being only able to see his back, he could not
make certain who it was,--but from the bulk of the man and breadth of
the shoulders he concluded that it was Dale. Anyhow it was one of his
enemies, and that was sufficient, for Gorman's nature was of that brutal
kind that he would risk his life any day in order to gratify his
vengeance, and it signified little to him which of his enemies fell in
his way, so long as it was one of them.

Taking up a brick from the floor, he raised himself to his full height,
and dashed it down on the head of the sleeping man. Just at that moment
Corney's nodding head chan