standing on the step,
the maid (in whose hand I perceived a greasy fork) shuffled along the
passage and began to mount the stairs. An unmistakable odour of frying
sausages now reached my nostrils. Harley glanced at me quizzically,
but said nothing until the Cinderella came stumbling downstairs again.
Without returning to where we stood:

"Go up," she directed. "Second floor, front. Shut the door, one of yer."

She disappeared into gloomy depths below as Harley and I, closing the
door behind us, proceeded to avail ourselves of the invitation. There
was very little light on the staircase, but we managed to find our way
to a poorly furnished bed-sitting-room where a small table was spread
for a meal. Beside the table, in a chintz-covered arm-chair, a thick-set
young man was seated smoking a cigarette and having a copy of the Daily
Telegraph upon his knees.

He was a very typical lower middle-class, nothing-in-particular young
man, but there was a certain truculence indicated by his square jaw,
and that sort of self-possession which sometimes accompanies physical
strength was evidenced in his manner as, tossing the paper aside, he
stood up.

"Good evening, Mr. Bampton," said Harley genially. "I take it"--pointing
to the newspaper--"that you are looking for a new job?"

Bampton stared, a suspicion of anger in his eyes, then, meeting the
amused glance of my friend, he broke into a smile very pleasing and
humorous. He was a fresh-coloured young fellow with hair inclined to
redness, and smiling he looked very boyish indeed.

"I have no idea who you are," he said, speaking with a faint
north-country accent, "but you evidently know who I am and what has
happened to me."

"Got the boot?" asked Harley confidentially.

Bampton, tossing the end of his cigarette into the grate, nodded grimly.

"You haven't told me your name," he said, "but I think I can tell you
your business." He ceased smiling. "Now look here, I don't want any more
publicity. If you think you are going to make a funny newspaper story
out of me change your mind as quick as you like. I'll never get another
job in London as it is. If you drag me any further into the limelight
I'll never get another job in England."

"My dear fellow," replied Harley soothingly, at the same time extending
his cigarette-case, "you misapprehend the object of my call. I am not a
reporter."

"What!" said Bampton, pausing in the act of taking a cigarette, "then
what the devil a