“But I don’t,” said Hugh.

“But I’ll introduce ye till ‘im.  He bides close at han’ here; roun’ twa corners jist.  An’ I’m thinkin’ he’ll be at hame the noo; for I saw him gaein that get, afore ye cam’ up to me.  An’ the suner we gang, the better; for he’s no aye to be gotten hand o’.  Fegs! he may be in Shoreditch or this.”

“But will he not consider it an intrusion?”

“Na, na; there’s no fear o’ that.  He’s ony man’s an’ ilka woman’s freen —­ so be he can do them a guid turn; but he’s no for drinkin’ and daffin’ an’ that.  Come awa’, Maister Sutherlan’, he’s yer verra man.”

Thus urged, Hugh rose and accompanied the policeman.  He took him round rather more than two corners; but within five minutes they stood at Mr. Falconer’s door.  John rang.  The door opened without visible service, and they ascended to the first floor, which was enclosed something after the Scotch fashion.  Here a respectable looking woman awaited their ascent.

“Is Mr. Falconer at hom’, mem?” said Hugh’s guide.

“He is; but I think he’s just going out again.”

“Will ye tell him, mem, ’at hoo John MacPherson, the policeman, would like sair to see him?”

“I will,” she answered; and went in, leaving them at the door.

She returned in a moment, and, inviting them to enter, ushered them into a large bare room, in which there was just light enough for Hugh to recognize, to his astonishment, the unmistakeable figure of the man whom he had met in Whitechapel, and whom he had afterwards seen apparently watching him from the gallery of the Olympic Theatre.

“How are you, MacPherson?” said a deep powerful voice, out of the gloom.

“Verra weel, I thank ye, Mr. Falconer.  Hoo are ye yersel’, sir?”

“Very well too, thank you.  Who is with you?”

“It’s a gentleman, sir, by the name o’ Mr. Sutherlan’, wha wants your help, sir, aboot somebody or ither ’at he’s enteresstit in, wha’s disappeared.”

Falconer advanced, and, bowing to Hugh said, very graciously: 

“I shall be most happy to serve Mr. Sutherland, if in my power.  Our friend MacPherson has rather too exalted an idea of my capabilities, however.”

“Weel, Maister Falconer, I only jist spier at yersel’, whether or no ye was ever dung wi’ onything ye took in han’.”

Falconer made no reply to this.  There was the story of a whole life in his silence —­ past and to come.

He merely said: 

“You can leave the gentleman with me, then, John.  I’ll take care of him.”

“No fear o’ that, sir.  Deil a bit! though a’ the policemen i’ Lonnon war efter ’im.”

“I’m much obliged to you for bringing him.”

“The obligation’s mine sir —­ an’ the gentleman’s.  Good nicht, sir.  Good nicht, Mr. Sutherlan’.  Ye’ll ken whaur to fin’ me gin ye want me.  Yon’s my beat for anither fortnicht.”