As he picked up his stick, he heard a footstep behind him, and turning, saw an ill-dressed, sullen-looking man.  The light from one of the lamps near by shone full on him; and something about the stout, shambling figure, or the dirty evil-browed face, seemed dimly familiar.

To his surprise, the man nodded at him with a sulky frown, and said, in a thick voice: 

“Good-evening!  Don’t remember me, I s’pose?”

“No, I do not,” admitted Leroy, as he scanned the bleared, swollen countenance before him.

“Ah! you swells ’as bad memories; I ain’t forgotten you, so don’t you think it!”

Leroy gazed at him calmly; he thought the man was intoxicated.

“Do you want anything of me?” he asked, as he pulled on his glove.

“That depends,” responded the man, moving forward so that he stood right in Adrien’s path.  “You’re Mr. Leroy, ain’t you?”

“I am,” said Leroy.  “What is it you want?”

“I wants to ask you a question,” returned the other, bringing his face closer to Adrien, who recoiled involuntarily—­the very smell of the fustian clothes offending his delicate nostrils.

The man noticed this, and frowned even more heavily.

“You’re a gentleman,” he said, “leastways I s’pose you calls yourself such—­p’raps you’ll act like one.”

“Kindly make haste and tell me what you want, my good fellow,” said Adrien impatiently.  He did not know but that this was a preliminary to an attempt to rob him, and he was in no mood for a brawl.

“Oh, I’ll be quick enough for you,” was the sullen reply.  “You don’t remember me, you say; p’raps you’ll remember my name—­Wilfer—­Johann Wilfer.”

“Johann Wilfer,” repeated Adrien, thoughtfully and slowly, wondering where he had heard the name before.

“Yes, Johann Wilfer, Picture Restorer, Cracknell Court, Soho.”

“Oh!” said Adrien, as a burst of memory dawned on him.  “I remember you now.  What is it you want?  But tell me first, has the girl Jessica returned yet?”

“That’s just like you swells,” growled the man.  “Nothing like getting your word in first.  Has she returned to me?  You know jolly well she ain’t.  She won’t come back to me till you’ve done with ’er, I’ll be bound.”

Adrien started, as the significance of the accusation dawned on him.  He had thought more than once of the girl, with her dark eyes and silken hair.  What had become of her?  What, alas! could have been her fate, if she had not returned to this man, her guardian?

“What do you mean?” he said now, sternly.

“What I say,” retorted Mr. Wilfer.  “She ain’t returned to me, an’ that’s my question to you.  Where is she, an’ what ’ave you done with her?”

“How should know what has become of her?” answered Leroy, genuinely startled.  “Do you dare to insinuate that I know where she is?  I have neither seen her nor heard of her.”

“That’s a lie,” said the man shortly.