oath from the armchair.

"Good old Nigger!" murmured one of the men by the door.

"Well, and what about it?" demanded Nigger.

"If Burns is delivered over to me within two hours, unharmed and in
fighting trim, and a cheque for 1,000 pounds is paid to St.
Timothy's Hospital by noon to-morrow, there will be no prosecution,
and I will not divulge your names. If not, during the next
twenty-four hours, London will probably have its first experience of
lynch-law."

With that Malcolm Sage struck a match and proceeded to light his
pipe.

"That all?" sneered the man. "Ain't there nothink else you'd like?"

"I cannot recall anything else at the moment," said Malcolm Sage
imperturbably, as he looked across at the fellow over the top of the
burning match.

"You dirty nark," burst out the man by the door, who had hitherto
remained silent. "A pretty sort of stool-pigeon you are."

"Spyin' on us, wasn't you?" demanded Nigger, edging nearer to
Malcolm Sage.

"It's ten minutes past four," remarked Malcolm Sage coolly, as he
glanced at his wrist-watch.

"Oh, it is, is it?" was the retort, "and in another hour it'll be
ten minutes past five."

"I have to be back at my office by half-past four." Malcolm Sage
looked about for some receptacle in which to throw the spent match.

"You don't say so." Again Nigger edged a little nearer; but Malcolm
Sage appeared not to notice it.

"Well, I may as well tell you that you don't leave here until eleven
o'clock to-morrow night, see?"

There were murmurs of approval from the others.

"Then, perhaps, you will send out and buy me a tooth-brush," was
Malcolm Sage's quiet rejoinder.

CHAPTER XVI THE GREAT FIGHT AT THE OLYMPIA

I

Never had the Olympia seen such a crowd as was gathered to watch the
fight between Charley Burns of England and Joe Jefferson of America,
Never in its career of hybrid ugliness had it witnessed such
excitement.

For thirty-six hours the wildest rumours had been current. Charley
Burns had broken down, run away, committed suicide, and refused to
fight. He had broken a leg, an arm, a finger, and had torn more
tendons than he possessed. He had sprained ankles, wrung withers,
been overtrained, had contracted every known disease in addition to
manifesting a yellow streak.

The atmosphere was electrical. The spectators whispered among
themselves, exchanging views and rumours. The most fantastical
stories were related, credited, and debated wi