as little as
you can. You never know who may be watching you during the Baron's
absence."

On the next evening I went out for a stroll towards Piccadilly Circus
and accidentally met a man I knew, a German named Karl Stieber, a man of
about thirty, who was valet to a young gentleman who lived in the flat
beneath us.

Together we descended to that noisy cafe beneath the Hotel de l'Europe
in Leicester Square, where we met four other friends of Karl's, servants
like himself.

As we sat together, he told me that his brother was head-waiter at a
little French restaurant in Dean Street, Soho, called "La Belle
Nicoise," a place where one could obtain real Provencal dishes. Then, I
on my part, told him of my own position and my travels with the Baron.

When we ascended into Leicester Square again we found the pavements
congested, for Daly's, the Empire, and the Alhambra had just disgorged
their throngs.

As he walked with me he turned, and suddenly asked:

"Since you've been in London has old Van Nierop visited the Baron?"

I started in quick surprise, but in an instant recollected my master's
injunctions.

"Van Nierop!" I echoed. "Whom do you mean?"

But he only laughed knowingly, exclaiming:

"All right. You'll deny all knowledge of him, of course. But, my dear
Dickson, take the advice of one who knows, and be ever watchful. Take
care of your own self. Good night!"

And my friend, who seemed to possess some secret knowledge, vanished in
the crowd.

Once or twice he ascended and called upon me, and we sometimes used to
spend our evenings together in that illicit little gaming-room behind a
shop in Old Compton Street, a place much frequented by foreign servants.

I noticed, however, though he was very inquisitive regarding the Baron
and his movements, he would never give me any reason. He sometimes
warned me mysteriously that I was in danger. But to me his words
appeared absurd.

One evening, in the third week of December, he and I were in the Baron's
room chatting, when a ring came at the door, and I found the Baron
himself, looking very tired and fagged. He almost staggered into his
sitting-room, brushing past Karl on his way. He was dressed in different
clothes, and I scarcely recognised him at first.

"Who's that, Dickson?" he demanded sharply. "I thought I told you I
forbade visitors here! Send him away. I want to talk to you."

I obeyed, and when he heard the door close the Baron, who I noticed was
t