some one I had seen, and seen recently; but who or where I knew not. A
porter standing hard by gave me the necessary hint. The stranger was an
English navy man invalided home from Honolulu, where he had left his
ship; indeed, it was only from the change of clothes and the effects of
sickness that I had not immediately recognised my friend and
correspondent, Lieutenant Sebright.

The conjunction of these planets seeming ominous, I drew near; but it
seemed Bellairs had done his business; he vanished in the crowd, and I
found my officer alone.

"Do you know whom you have been talking to, Mr. Sebright?" I began.

"No," said he; "I don't know him from Adam. Anything wrong?"

"He is a disreputable lawyer, recently disbarred," said I. "I wish I had
seen you in time. I trust you told him nothing about Carthew?"

He flushed to his ears. "I'm awfully sorry," he said. "He seemed civil,
and I wanted to get rid of him. It was only the address he asked."

"And you gave it?" I cried.

"I'm really awfully sorry," said Sebright. "I'm afraid I did."

"God forgive you!" was my only comment, and I turned my back upon the
blunderer.

The fat was in the fire now: Bellairs had the address, and I was the
more deceived or Carthew would have news of him. So strong was this
impression, and so painful, that the next morning I had the curiosity to
pay the lawyer's den a visit. An old woman was scrubbing the stair, and
the board was down.

"Lawyer Bellairs?" said the old woman; "gone East this morning. There's
Lawyer Dean next block up."

I did not trouble Lawyer Dean, but walked slowly back to my hotel,
ruminating as I went. The image of the old woman washing that desecrated
stair had struck my fancy; it seemed that all the water-supply of the
city and all the soap in the State would scarce suffice to cleanse it,
it had been so long a clearing-house of dingy secrets and a factory of
sordid fraud. And now the corner was untenanted; some judge, like a
careful housewife, had knocked down the web; and the bloated spider was
scuttling elsewhere after new victims. I had of late (as I have said)
insensibly taken sides with Carthew; now when his enemy was at his
heels, my interest grew more warm; and I began to wonder if I could not
help. The drama of the _Flying Scud_ was entering on a new phase. It had
been singular from the first: it promised an extraordinary conclusion;
and I, who had paid so much to learn the beginning, might pay a littl