Do you know where the 'King of Madagascar' public-house is in this
quarter of the town, young man?"

"No!" answered Spargo. "Certainly not!"

"Well, anybody'll tell you when you get outside, young man," continued
the queer voice of the unseen person. "Go there, and wait at the corner
by the 'King of Madagascar,' and I'll come there to you at the end of
half an hour. Then I'll tell you something, young man--I'll tell you
something. Now run away, young man, run away to the 'King of
Madagascar'--I'm coming!"

The voice ended in low, horrible cachinnation which made Spargo feel
queer. But he was young enough to be in love with adventure, and he
immediately turned on his heel without so much as a glance at the
privet hedge, and went across the garden and through the house, and let
himself out at the door. And at the next corner of the square he met a
policeman and asked him if he knew where the "King of Madagascar" was.

"First to the right, second to the left," answered the policeman
tersely. "You can't miss it anywhere round there--it's a landmark."

And Spargo found the landmark--a great, square-built tavern--easily,
and he waited at a corner of it wondering what he was going to see, and
intensely curious about the owner of the queer voice, with all its
suggestions of he knew not what. And suddenly there came up to him an
old woman and leered at him in a fashion that made him suddenly realize
how dreadful old age may be.

Spargo had never seen such an old woman as this in his life. She was
dressed respectably, better than respectably. Her gown was good; her
bonnet was smart; her smaller fittings were good. But her face was
evil; it showed unmistakable signs of a long devotion to the bottle;
the old eyes leered and ogled, the old lips were wicked. Spargo felt a
sense of disgust almost amounting to nausea, but he was going to hear
what the old harridan had to say and he tried not to look what he felt.

"Well?" he said, almost roughly. "Well?"

"Well, young man, there you are," said his new acquaintance. "Let us go
inside, young man; there's a quiet little place where a lady can sit
and take her drop of gin--I'll show you. And if you're good to me, I'll
tell you something about that cat that you were talking to just now.
But you'll give me a little matter to put in my pocket, young man? Old
ladies like me have a right to buy little comforts, you know, little
comforts."

Spargo followed this extraordinary person i