ng thoroughfares to take. At last he inquired of the
constable on point-duty, and then went up St. Martin's Lane.

As soon as he had turned I approached the policeman, and asked what the
stranger wanted, explaining that he was a suspicious character whom I
was following.

"'E's a Frenchman, sir. 'E wants Burton Crescent."

"Where's that?"

"Why, just off the Euston Road--close to Judd Street. I've told 'im the
way."

I entered a hansom and drove to the place in question, a semicircle of
dark-looking, old-fashioned houses of the Bloomsbury type--most of them
let out in apartments. Then alighting, I loitered for half an hour up
and down to await the arrival of the stranger.

He came at last, his tall, meagre figure looming dark in the lamp-light.
Very eagerly he walked round the Crescent, examining the numbers of the
houses, until he came to one rather cleaner than the others, of which he
took careful observation.

I, too, took note of the number.

Afterwards the stranger turned into the Euston Road, crossed to King's
Cross Station, where he sent a telegram, and then went to one of the
small uninviting private hotels in the neighbourhood. Having seen him
there, I returned to Burton Crescent, and for an hour watched the house,
wondering whether Julie Granier had taken up her abode there. To me it
seemed as though the stranger had overheard the directions she had given
the cabman.

The windows of the house were closed by green Venetian blinds. I could
see that there were lights in most of the rooms, while over the fanlight
of the front door was a small transparent square of glass. The front
steps were well kept, and in the deep basement was a well-lighted
kitchen.

I had been there about half an hour when the door opened, and a
middle-aged man in evening dress, and wearing a black overcoat and crush
hat, emerged. His dark face was an aristocratic one, and as he descended
the steps he drew on his white gloves, for he was evidently on his way
to the theatre. I took good notice of his face, for it was a striking
countenance, one which once seen could never be forgotten.

A man-servant behind him blew a cab-whistle, a hansom drew up, and he
drove away. Then I walked up and down in the vicinity, keeping a weary
vigil, for my curiosity was now much excited. The stranger meant
mischief. Of that I was certain.

The one point I wished to clear up was whether Julie Granier was
actually within that house. But though I