ctly, and keep the change for yourself."

The boatman's gratitude was (apparently) beyond expression in words. He
slapped his pocket cheerfully, and that was all. Leading the way inland,
he went downhill, and uphill again--then turned aside towards the
eastern extremity of the town.

Farnaby, still following, with the woman behind him, stopped when the
boatman diverged towards the east, and looked up at the name of the
street. "I've got my instructions," he said; "I know where he's going.
Step out! We'll get there before him, by another way."

Mr. Ronald and his guide reached a row of poor little houses, with poor
little gardens in front of them and behind them. The back windows looked
out on downs and fields lying on either side of the road to Broadstairs.
It was a lost and lonely spot. The guide stopped, and put a question
with inquisitive respect. "What number, sir?" Mr. Ronald had
sufficiently recovered himself to keep his own counsel. "That will do,"
he said. "You can leave me." The boatman waited a moment. Mr. Ronald
looked at him. The boatman was slow to understand that his leadership
had gone from him. "You're sure you don't want me any more?" he
said. "Quite sure," Mr. Ronald answered. The man from Broadstairs
retired--with his salvage to comfort him.

Number 1 was at the farther extremity of the row of houses. When Mr.
Ronald rang the bell, the spies were already posted. The woman loitered
on the road, within view of the door. Farnaby was out of sight, round
the corner, watching the house over the low wooden palings of the back
garden.

A lazy-looking man, in his shirt sleeves, opened the door. "Mrs. Turner
at home?" he repeated. "Well, she's at home; but she's too busy to see
anybody. What's your pleasure?" Mr. Ronald declined to accept excuses
or to answer questions. "I must see Mrs. Turner directly," he said, "on
important business." His tone and manner had their effect on the lazy
man. "What name?" he asked. Mr. Ronald declined to mention his name.
"Give my message," he said. "I won't detain Mrs. Turner more than a
minute." The man hesitated--and opened the door of the front parlour. An
old woman was fast asleep on a ragged little sofa. The man gave up the
front parlour, and tried the back parlour next. It was empty. "Please to
wait here," he said--and went away to deliver his message.

The parlour was a miserably furnished room. Through the open window, the
patch of back garden was barely visible un