have joined him in this excursion, but at
the last moment had not put in an appearance; so Brand jumped in just
as the train was starting, and found himself alone in the carriage.

The bundle of newspapers he had with him did not seem to interest him
much. He was more than ever puzzled to account for the continued silence
of Natalie. Each morning he had been confidently expecting to hear from
her--to have some explanation of her sudden departure--but as the days
went by, and no message of any sort arrived, his wonder became merged in
anxiety. It seemed so strange that she should thus absent herself, when
she had been counting on each day on which she might see him as if it
were some gracious gift from Heaven.

All that he was certain of in the matter was that Lind knew no more than
himself as to where Natalie had gone. One afternoon, going out from his
rooms into Buckingham Street, he caught sight of Beratinsky loitering
about farther up the little thoroughfare, about the corner of John
Street. Beratinsky's back was turned to him, and so he took advantage of
the moment to open the gate, for which he had a private key, leading
down to the old York Gate; from thence he made his way round by Villiers
Street, whence he could get a better view of the little black-a-vised
Pole's proceedings.

He speedily convinced himself that Beratinsky, though occasionally he
walked along in the direction of Adam Street, and though sometimes he
would leisurely stroll up to the Strand, was in reality keeping an eye
on Buckingham Street and he had not the least doubt that he himself was
the object of this surveillance. He laughed to himself. Had these wise
people in Lisle Street, then, discovering that Natalie's mother was in
London, arrived at the conclusion that she and her daughter had taken
refuge in so very open a place of shelter? When Beratinsky was least
expecting any such encounter, Brand went up and tapped him on the
shoulder.

"How do you do, Mr. Beratinsky?" said he, when the other wheeled round.
"This is not the most agreeable place for a stroll. Why do you not go
down to the Embankment Gardens?"

Beratinsky was angry and confused, but did not quite lose his
self-command.

"I am waiting for some one," he said, curtly.

"Or to find out about some one? Well, I will save you some trouble. Lind
wishes to know where his wife and daughter are, I imagine."

"Is that unnatural?"

"I suppose not. I heard he had been down to Ha