ried to think out some plan by which he could get face to face
with his friend.

A thought came directly, and it seemed so childish in its simplicity
that he smiled and was ready to give it up; but it grew in strength and
possibility as he looked round and took from a table, where lay quite a
little heap that had been thrust into his letter-box from time to time,
four or five unopened circulars and foolscap missives, whose appearance
told what they were; and armed with these he opened his doors softly and
passed out, drawing the outer door to, and then stole on tiptoe
downstairs and out into the dimly lit square.

"He will not notice that it is so late," he said to himself, as he
looked up and saw just a faint gleam of light at Brettison's window,
where the drawn curtain was not quite closed.

Stratton paused for a moment, and drew a long breath before attempting
to act the part upon which he had decided. Then, going on some twenty
or thirty yards, he turned and walked back with a heavy, decided,
businesslike step, whistling softly as he went, right to the entry,
where, still whistling, he ascended the stairs to his door, thrust in
and drew out a letter-packet thrice, making the metal flap of the box
rattle, gave a sharp double knock, and then crossed the landing and went
the few steps, whistling still, along the passage to Brettison's door.
Here he thrust in, one by one, three circulars, with a good deal of
noise, through the letter-flap, gave the customary double knock, went on
whistling softly, and waited a moment or two; and then, as he heard a
faint sound within, gave another sharp double rap, as a postman would
who had a registered letter, or a packet too big to pass through the
slit.

The ruse was successful, and with beating heart Stratton stood waiting a
little on one side, as there was the click and grate of the latch, and
the door was opened a little way.

That was enough. Quick as lightning, Stratton seized and dragged it
wide, to step in face to face with Brettison, who started back in alarm
and was followed up by his friend, who closed both doors carefully, and
then stood gazing at the bent, grey-headed, weak old man, who had shrunk
back behind the table, whereon the pipe stood burning slowly, while the
unshaded lamp showed a dozen or so of freshly opened letters on the
table, explaining their owner's visit there.

Stratton did not speak, but gazed fiercely at the trembling old man, who
looked wil