's trick of
replying to unspoken questions was too singular to be forgotten lightly.

"Mr. Hohsmann is now of my friends," continued the strange visitor. "You
received the paragraph? Ah! I see it appears in your later edition."

"But Jesson?"

"Sir Leopold can never be my friend, nor do I desire it. There is an
incident in his career----You understand? I do not reproach him with it.
It should never have been recalled to him had he held his purse-strings
less tightly. But it served as a lever. It was a poor one, for, though
he does not know it, I would cast stones at no man. But it served. He
has made his contribution. I begin to achieve something, Sheard. The
_Times_ has a leader in the press showing how the Jews are the backbone
of British prosperity, and truer patriots than any whose fathers crossed
with Norman William."

He ceased speaking, abruptly, and with his eyes, drew Sheard's attention
again to the window. Since Severac Bablon's arrival, indeed, the
journalist had glanced thither often enough. But, now, he perceived
something which made him wonder.

There was a street lamp at the corner of the road, and, his own
table-lamp leaving the further window in shade, it was possible to
detect the presence of anything immediately outside by its faint shadow.

Something round was pressed upon a corner of the lower pane.

Severac Bablon stepped to the table and scribbled upon a sheet of
paper:--

"He has some kind of portable telephonic arrangement designed for the
purpose, attached to the glass. No doubt he can follow our conversation.
He may attempt to hold me up as I leave the house. He cannot enter, of
course, or we could arrest him on a charge of housebreaking! You have a
back gate. If you will permit me to pass through your domestic offices
and your garden, I will leave by that exit. Continue to talk for some
minutes after I am gone. Do not fear that there is any evidence of my
having been here. Alden can prove nothing."

Replacing the pencil on the tray:

"I want you to join me at a little supper on Wednesday evening," said
Severac Bablon. "Practically all our influential friends will be
present----"

He ignored Sheard's head-shakes and expressive nods directed towards the
window.

"There is an old house which I have rented for a time at Richmond. It is
known as 'The Cedars,' and overlooks the Thames. The grounds are fairly
extensive, and bordered by two very quiet roads. In fact, it is an ideal
sp