d, myself, seek out the writer of that letter, and, if I found him,
he and I would have a heart to heart talk which should disabuse his mind
of a few illusions. We would have a full and complete understanding.

I hastily made a memorandum of the address, "Care Mrs. Briggs," thrust
the letter back into the envelope, put it and my other mail into my
pocket, and walked out into the main office. Holton, the clerk, looked
up from his desk. Probably my feelings showed in my face, for he said:

"What is it, Mr. Knowles? No bad news, I trust, sir."

"No," I answered, shortly. "Where is ---- Street? Is it far from here?"

It was rather far from there, in Camberwell, on the Surrey side of the
river. I might take a bus at such a corner and change again at so and
so. It sounded like a journey and I was impatient. I suggested that I
might take a cab. Certainly I could do that. William, the boy, would
call a cab at once.

William did so and I gave the driver the address from my memoranda.
Through the Strand I was whirled, across Blackfriars Bridge and on
through the intricate web of avenues and streets on the Surrey side. The
locality did not impress me favorably. There was an abundance of "pubs"
and of fried-fish shops where "jellied eels" seemed to be a viand much
in demand.

---- Street, when I reached it, was dingy and third rate. Three-storied
old brick houses, with shops on their first floors, predominated. Number
218 was one of these. The signs "Lodgings" over the tarnished bell-pull
and the name "Briggs" on the plate beside it proved that I had located
the house from which the letter had been sent.

I paid my cabman, dismissed him, and rang the bell. A slouchy
maid-servant answered the ring.

"Is Mr. Francis Morley in?" I asked.

The maid looked at me.

"Wat, sir?" she said.

"Does Mr. Francis Morley live here?" I asked, raising my voice. "Is he
in?"

The maid's face was as wooden as the door-post. Her mouth, already open,
opened still wider and she continued to stare. A step sounded in the
dark hall behind her and another voice said, sharply:

"'Oo is it, 'Arriet? And w'at does 'e want?"

The maid grinned. "'E wants to see MISTER Morley, ma'am," she said, with
a giggle.

She was pushed aside and a red-faced woman, with thin lips and scowl,
took her place.

"'OO do you want to see?" she demanded.

"Francis Morley. Does he live here?"

"'OO?"

"Francis Morley." My answer was sharp enough this time. I b