Passing out into the night, he found the storm fast abating.  Stopping at a news-stand, he inquired for a directory, which he carefully studied for a few moments, then walked down the principal thoroughfare until, coming to a side street, he turned and for a number of blocks passed up one street and down another, plunging at last into a dark alley.

Upon emerging therefrom a block away, the soft felt hat had given place to a jaunty cap, while a pair of gold-rimmed eye-glasses perched upon the aquiline nose gave the wearer a decidedly youthful and debonnaire appearance.  Approaching a secluded house in a dimly lighted location, he glanced sharply at the number, as though to reassure himself, then running swiftly up the front steps, he pulled the door-bell vigorously and awaited developments.  After considerable delay the door was unlocked and partially opened by a hatchet-faced woman, who peered cautiously out, her features lighted by the uncertain rays of a candle which the draught momentarily threatened to extinguish.

“Good-evening, madam,” said the stranger, airily.  “Pardon such an unseasonable call, but I wish to see Mr. Lovering, who, I understand, has rooms here.”

“There’s no such person rooming here,” she replied, sharply, her manner indicating that this bit of information ended the interview, but her interlocutor was not to be so easily dismissed.

“No such person!” he exclaimed, at the same time scrutinizing in apparent perplexity a small card which he had produced.  “J.  D. Lovering, 545 Jefferson Street; isn’t this 545, madam?”

“Yes,” she answered, testily, “this is 545; but there’s nobody here by the name of Lovering.”

The young man turned as if to go.  “Have you any roomers at present?” he inquired, doubtfully.

“I have one, but his name is Mannering.”

“Mannering,” he repeated, thoughtfully, once more facing her; “I wonder if I am not mistaken in the name?  Will you kindly describe Mr. Mannering?”

The woman hesitated, eying him suspiciously.  “He ain’t likely to be the man you want,” she said, slowly, “for he don’t have no callers, and he never goes anywhere, except out of the city once in a while on business.  He’s an oldish man, with dark hair and beard streaked with gray, and he wears dark glasses.”

“Ah, no,” the young man interrupted hastily, “that is not the man at all; the man I am looking for is rather young and a decided blond.  I am sorry to have troubled you, madam; I beg a thousand pardons,” and with profuse apologies he bowed himself down the steps, to the evident relief of the landlady.