MYSTERIOUS MR. MALLAFORD.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXIX, Issue 21153, 9 April 1932, Page 13 (Supplement)

MYSTERIOUS MR. MALLAFORD.

CHAPTER XlV.—(Continued.) Bussil had watched us quietly as J re ad the letter. Ho reached for it ' wo finished, folded, it up methodically, j ca refully placed it in his pocketbook- / "Well, young nan," he said, looking quizzically ft Gray. V What d'ye make , 0 f that, now?" •'The best of it, sir, is where the best e f a woman's letter is almost invariably found," replied Gray. "In the postscript It is quite evident that Su?an •\Vheeler some twenty years ago had reason for hating Mrs. Carstone—whom w0 know to be identical with Mrs. Barfoot of Mallaford Court. And I think " I can make a shrewd guess as to why she hated her!" "Well—make it, in words, suggested r . Bussill. "A man!" said Gray. "What else ?" " Ay, but what man ? " asked the old lawyer. "That's a ticklish question!" " I take it that they were rivals," said Gray. " And that Mrs. Carstone was the successful one—or likely to be so." " Aye, well, that's not a bad theory," admitted Mr. Bussill, " but there may bo another. Perhaps Mrs. Carstone has got what Susan wanted ? You see, my memcry is pretty good, and I remember things of twenty and twenty-five years ago quite clearly. Now Carstone was at one time on the medical staff of our hospital. Perhaps Susan was in love with him—he was a good-looking fellow. [Well, 110 didn't marry Susan—that's certain. Ho married—the other woman. And perhaps Susan hated her for that reason." " Well, anyway, tho woman he married tfidn't ftick to him," said Gray. " W T e know that she left him and that after ■■ various adventures —of which 1 wish wo knew more —she's here at Mallaford Court as Mrs. Barfoot. And I wish too, that somebody v.-ould arrive and tell us more about her!" We got an answer to that devout aspiration the next day, when, about the middle of the morning, while Gray and I were discussing our next proceedings for the hundredth time, Mrs. Lobbitt, mysterious as ever, appeared and informed us that her niece, Peggie Flint, Who was having her day off, was in tho kitchen and would much like to have a word with us. We had Peggie brought . iu there and then; ono glance at her told us that she was primed with news; it showed, too, that she was entering into tlie spirit of the thing and was essentially of the stuff out of which good and trustworthy conspirators are fashioned. Not until Mrs. Lobbitt had discreetly retired, ostentatiously closing the door Upon us, did Peggie open her lips beyond giving us a demure and polite greeting. And when she did speak it was in ' the whispered tones that best befit mystery and secrets. " I've found something out!" said Peggie. "I thought you'd like to know about it." " We should !" answered Gray. ."What 5s it Peggie ?" , " Well, it's like this—if I know where 1o begin it," continued Peggie. " You iknow I told you about Mrs. Barfoot being away, in London, on the afternoon and evening of tho day that poor woman was ! killed? Well, day but one after that—that would be the day Mr. Leicester found the body—Mrs. Barfoot set up a fine to-do in the house about a pair of shoes of hers. It. v.-as a pair she'd had on when fhe went up to London, that afternoon •I'm talking of. She said she took them »ff in her room when she came in that night and put them in a rack that she has there, and' she swore that they were there next day. But on the day after that they were gone! And they couldn't he found anywhere—anywhere at all! Mrs. Barfoot was fearfully angry, because they were very expensive shoes. She hunted high and low for them, and asked no end of questions, and all that, hut it ws.s no good—they couldn't be found. Then Mr. Mallaford said that he thought, he could perhaps explain it. He has two or three young dogS—perhaps you've seen them? —and they're . fearfully mischievous, always pulling tilings to pieces, and carrying things out of doors, and they're allowed to run where they like, all over the bouse. He thought that one of them had got into Mrs. Barfoot's room and carried off the shoes into the grounds and perhaps buried .them. Anyway, the shoes had clean gone, and whether Mrs. Barfoot was satisfied shout the dogs or not, I don't know, hut she suddenly said no more about it, though she'd said plenty before, and I'm perfectly certain she thought that some us had stolen them," concluded Peggie, pensively regarding the toes of her own smart foot-wear, " I ktiow she did!" "Well?" said Gray. "And—the shoes lave turned up, eh ?" , Peggie gave him a peculiarly knowing look. "Yes!" she replied. " But nobody but Hie knows about it! I found them, last tfght!" "Where?" we inquired, simultaneously. Peggie glanced at tho door and then fit the window, and leaning across the table at which we all three sat, dropped her voice to the mere whisper. " In Mr. Webbam's room !" We made no remark on that. Instead, filter staring at her a moment, we nodded to her to go on. " I was-doing a bit of work for one of the housemaids last night," she continued, ■' she'd a bad headache. I was tidying up Mr. Webbam's room —that was latish in the evening, when he was playing billiards with Mr. Mallaford. He's a very Untidy gentleman—Mr. Webbam—he leaves his things about dreadful. There (Were ties and handkerchiefs thrown about anywhere, and socks, too —clean things that had come from the laundry and never been put away. I opened a drawer in his dressing table, to put away some pairs of . socks, and there,'first thing I saw, was Mrs. Barfoot's shoes! And —just as she'd taken 'era off, with mud and grass and leaves on 'em! Of course, I knew them at ence—I've seen them many a time." " What did you do ?" asked Gray. ' Shut the drawer again—after a good look at them. I didn't touch them." "Listen!" said Gray. "Did you put fiose socks in the drawer ?" "•No, f didn't!" replied Peggie, with another knowing look. " I thought that if I did, he'd know somebody had been at the .drawer. Xo—after seeing the shoes, I left everything where I'd found it." 'Good, wise girl!" said Gray, admiringly. " You deserve a medal, Peggie—- . perhaps you'll get one, in another form! Well, the shoes are still there, eh !" "As far as I know," replied Peggie. "I left them there." ■ I saw at once what Gray was after—he wanted to see Peggie Flint's find. And he was as quick as I was. " Peggie!" he said, taking the girl into his confidence with a look that would have wheddled an old maid. " You've got -'to get nie a sight of those shoes! You're a clever girl and you can do it! Now — Ift'hen ?" It needed but a glance at Peggie Flint to see that she was going to do it—at any cost. The spirit of adventure flashed into her eyes. • My !•—but if anybody caught me, Mr. Gray!" sho exclaimed. "Mr. Webbam, he hasn't got those shoes for nothing, I'll bound. Of course, I know what he's

By J. S. FLETCHER. Author of " Cobweb Castle," " The Wild Oat," etc.

A FINE STORY BY A FAMOUS NOVELIST.

after—he thinks "Mrs. B. has something to do with that mnr—" " H'sh, h'sh !" interrupted Gray, lifting a warning finger. " Don't you put that into words, my dear, even if you think it ! Perhaps I think the same, but I'm not going to sav so—yet." " Well, it's what I do think, though," retorted Peggie, " and I reckon he'll be keener than ever now that Mr. Mallaford's offered that thousand pounds reward—he's a deep one, is Mr. W., even if he is quiet. And I should like to know what you two young gentlemen think—if anything comes of what I've been able to tell, shall I come in for any of that reward ?" " Mr. Leicester and I will see you're all right, Peggie," declared Grnv. " Don't have any doubt about that. But now—those shoes? Come!—you can manage it!" Peggie could manage it, and did. Next evening sho brought "he shoes to us. Wo had them in our possession for ten minutes. And we ir.;ide careful note of the fact that there bits of turf, and blades of a certain sort of grass, and a leaf or two of a certain ground weed or plant adhering to each, and wo saw why Webbum, on tho day after the murder, had carefully removed them from their owner's keeping to his own. " Webbam suspects Mrs. Barfoot." said Gray when Peggie Flint and the shoes had gone. "That's sure! the thing is—what's he j.fter? What's he doing ? What's he going to do ? However, we've got a clue now, and whatever Webbam may be doing I know what I'm going to do, and at once I" "Well—and what's that?" I asked. " Something really definito?" "Watch Mrs. Barfoot!" he answered. " Or, rather, have her watched —I can't do it myself, but I know who can. Tomorrow—'' He said no more then, but next day he went up to town, and in the evening, after dark, marched into my study something human which tie thrust forward by the shoulder. "Leicester!" he Baid. "Meet Mr. Charles James Fox!" CHAPTER XV. FOX. There arc, 1 suppose, very few Englishspeaking folk (of the educated sort, at any rate) who aro not familiar with tho namo of Charles James Fox. He—to vary a well-known phrase of Dean Swift's —is in all the histories. And his picture is in a great many books, as well as in the great galleries. A big, entirely English sort of a man, with a fine big face, and a fine big paunch, and fine big limbs—a good specimen of what we mean by the term John Bull. If—l am supposing you are in London —if, I say, you do not already possess a proper acquaintanceship with the features of this great man of the Third Georgian Age, go and look at his portrait, by Karl Anton Hickel, in the National Portrait Gallery. There he sits, in a very capacious chair—or, perhaps, a garden seat with an ornamental back—by the side of a table on which his finelyshaped left hand is dropping loose papers j (the notes of a speech, no doubt); his right hand grasps the other papers. He is not looking at these papers, however; his fine dark eyes, large, expressive, surmounted by bold, level eyebrows, still darker in tone, contemplate—something that he sees in his mind's eyo He wears a loosely-fitting dark coat, but his breeches look a little tight about the knee; round the left knee, a little beneath the cap, is a garter, or something of that kind which is difficult to make out; he has ruffles at his wrist; a fine handkerchief is loosely knolted round his throat beneath the double chin ; ho wears, perched well to the back of his head, a highlycrowned hat with a generous, gaily-curved brim: reposing against his plump knee is a staff, which is certainly of oak, and might better be described as a cudgel. A fine, big, portly gentleman, and every inch an Englishmna. Having been something of a student of that period of our history in which this Charles James Fox figured, and possessing a> keen admiration for him and his performances on that stage, I turned with natural interest to look at the specimen of humanity which dared to own his name, and having turned, and having looked, remained transfixed with a good deal of astonishment, not urimingled with an impulse to laugh. What I looked at was a youth of perhaps nineteen or twenty years of age, of exceptionally slight build and delicate features; I should say he scaled seven stone at tho outside He was nattily and smartly dressed in a well-fit-ting suit of blue iierge; all his appointments, from neakvsear to footwear, were good and proper; he was obviously a bit of a dandy, and particular about his linen. But I was most interested in his face, which, still beardless as that of a girl, was at first glance curiously infantile. But not at second! There was an extraordinary shrewdness, watchfulness, cuteness about tho eyes; a phenomenal reserve about the lines of the lips. And as might be expected from the fact that the creature had a beautifully pink-and-white complexion, the well-shaped foreheifd was topped by carefully brushed and anointed hair that was . . bright red! But I knew the young gentleman for a Jew, for all that. I was so much taken aback by the sight of this apparition that for the moment I forgot my manners and could only stare. Then I came to my senses. "Oh—er! —how d'ye do?" I blurted out. " I '

But Charles James Fox was of an infinite self-possession. " How do you do, sir? " ho said, coolly. " Pleased to meet you." I stared again—this time at Gray. Gray, still holding his exhibit by tho shoulder, wheeled it round, shoved it into a chair, and seating himself close by, poked his forefinger at it, as if ho were a showman. "You seo this, Leicester?" he said. '* This is tho smartest bit of stuff in England !in my line. His name is Fox, but it ought to lu.ve'been Ferret! This is guaranteed to stand at any street corner for a night and a day, never moving a muscle or winking an eyelid ... on tho watch! This, given a clue, is guaranteed to follow it up through bush and bracken, hill and Sale, fire and brimstone —I speak in metaphor! This, shown anybody and told to watch 'em, will never let 'em out of sight, even if they go into a crack in the wall ! I don't know if you quite follow me—" "Perfectly!" I interrupted. • Mr. Fox is—" " Precisely the person wo want at this present juncture," said Gray. And now, if you please, I'll hand him over to Mr. and Mrs. Lobbitt until to-morrow morning." . He led his pet out of the room then, pretty much as a keeper at tho zoo might have led away an emu or a cassowary, and presently returning, alone, flung himself into a chair and laughed. " Well ?" I said. " And what's all this about?" " Mrs. Barfoot !" he answered. ' Tomorrow, or tho next day, or tho day after that, I suppose to show Mrs. Barfoot to Mr. Fox—somehow ! The next time Mrs. Barfoot goes to town, Mr. Fox goes too. Wherever Mrs. Barfoot wanders, Mr. Fox will follow." " She'll spot h m !" said I. " That sho will not !" he answered with emphasis. " You. can lay anything you like on that, for a certainty !" " He'si not altogether inconspicuous," I remarked. " No doubt —to thoso who know him," he replied. " But Mrs. Barfoot doesn't know him, and never will know him. He'll seo Mrs. Barfoot—but Mrs. Barfoot will never see him. She'll never seo him hero when he sees, her, and she'll certainly never know he's following her when he does follow her."

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"You're acquainted with his powers?" I suggested. " Tested 'em pretty well on several occasions, anyhow !" ho answered. " In two cases I've had I don't know what I should have done without him! He's a marvel! You can get lots of men who are good at merely watching, or following, but this chap has brains and can use them in an emergency. He's been in more than one tight corner, but he's always come out without a scratfch. He's an uncanny power, too, of seeing ahead—anticipating things. What I'm going to do with him is this—show him his quarry first, and when it starts, let him loose on it ! Eh ?" "In plain English, lie's to shadow Mrs. Barfoot next time sho goes to town ?" I said. " But how shall we know when Mrs. Barfoot goes to town ?" " Leave that to me—and Peggie Flint," he said, with a wink. " Peggie is in my service, now—and like to prove very useful. Smart girl, Peggie—l shouldn't mind taking her on my staff. Oh, yes!— we'll know when Mrs. Barfoot next goes to London. Leave it to me—and to Fox." I saw little of either master or man during the next day or two. But on the third day after Fox's arrival, Gray came to me, soon after noon. " Fox is gone hunting !" ho said. " You may guess what he hunts. And now there's nothing to do but await his return." " And when will that he ?" I asked. But Gray shook his head. He spent tho rest of tho day reading—a stiff work on psychology, lie was still deep in it when, at eleven o'clock that night, Fox tapped at my study door. CHAPTER XVI. FOLLOWED. It was—to me, at any rate—an exciting story which Fox told us as he, Gray, and myself sat round my study table that night. Tho lad possessed a gift of clear and concise narrative and he wasted no words in telling what he had to tell. And, briefly, it was this:— During the course, of that forenoon Peggie Flint, whom Gray had contrived to see again, tho day after Fox's coming, managed to acquaint himself with the fact that Mrs. Barfoot was going to town that afternoon, by the train which left our local station, Box Hill, at 2.19. Now Fox, up to then, had not had Mrs. Barfoot shown to him; there had been no opportunity. Ho and Gray, however, quickly devised a way to get over that difficulty. The 2.19 from Box Hill starts from Dorking, its terminus station, two minutes earlier Gray and Fox accordingly went down to Dorking soon after ono o'clock, and at 2.17 got into the train together, in a first-class carriage. When the train drew up for a moment at Box Hill, Gray showed Fox Mrs. Barfoot, awaiting its arrival on the platform. At Leatherhead Gray got- out and returned (o me; Fox, of course, went on to Waterloo. And there his work begin. Mrs. Barfoot—who was unaccompanied —as soon as she had passed the ticketbarrier went to the telegraph office. She there dispatched a telegram. When she came out of the office she left the station by tho main entrance and walked down tlie incline into York Road. There she boarded a 'bus going Westward; so did Fox. She had a seat inside the 'bus: Fox was outside. The 'lms journeyed to Knightsbridge, without incident, as far as Fox was concerned. But at Knightsbridge, Mrs. Barfoot got out, and box came down from his post of observation, and followed her. Fox was delighted beyond measure to see Mrs. Barfoot turn into Harrod's. Marrod's is a. big place; its assistants run into J the hundreds and its customers into the j thousands; :t is one of those, places in I which, as a potential customer yourself, you can stroll around and without scenito do so keep an eye on some other customer. Fox knew Harrod s well —every inch of it; indeed, as it appeared to liie on deepening my acquaintance with him, there was precious little in London and its multi-coloured life that this young man did not know. And when Mrs. Barfoot plunged into the maze of tho big store. Fox, conscious of his powers and confident in them, was not far behind her. Mrs. Barfoot made for the department in which trunks, suit-cases, travelling necessities, that sort of thing, are on view and sale. Fox, arming himself with a modest purcha.se or something that would come in useful one day or another, put his parcel under his arm, and, under pretenco of considering some further purchase, watched Mrs. Barfoot mako hers. Mrs. Barfoot desired a travelling trunk of a certain make ; from the fact that sho wished it zinc-lined Fox came to the conclusion that Mrs. Barfoot contemplated a tour, or at any rate a departure to some foreign clime. Sho got what sho wanted, and she. paid for it, and I*ox was sufficiently near to her to hear her tell tho salesman where to send her purchase. And the address she gave was not Mallaford Cottft, but to a certain number in a certain street in Paddington. I'ox got that all right, and a moment later had scribbled it down on the wrapping of his own paper-covered parcel. But there was ono thing which he did not overhear, and that was tho name w-j.ch Mrs. Barfoot gave: he was certain, however, that it wasn't Barfoot. Mrs. Barfoot visited two or three other departments in Harrod's. Places, said Fox, where they sold frippery—ho wasn't greatly interested in that part of tho business; all ho now wanted was to keep Mrs. Barfoot in view. And this he managed very well, and when Mrs. Barfoot finally left.Knightshridge, lie followed her to Swan and Edgar's at Piccadilly Circus. This bothered him a bit, because it is a place where fripperies abound, but Fox brought all his resources to bear, and remembering that ho cultivated a sweetheart who was not averse to presents, he boldly followed his quarry inside and desperately laid out money in buying things which he fondly believed his girl would rejoice to possess. And so ho had another parcel under his arm when—Mrs. Barfoot having finished her shopping at that place —ho followed her out into the busy world again. The afternoon was wearing away by this time, and Fox hoped that Mrs. Barfoot was not going to visit any more stores or shops. Sho didn't—instead, she boarded a 'bus for Victoria, and so did Fox. In the station yard at Victoria sho dismounted and crossed into tho station; Fox followed her. His idea was that she was now goinfr home, but ho was wrong. Mrs. Barfiiot, on entering tho station, glanced at the clock, and then went straight across to tho principal bookstall. And there she was met and greeted by a man. Wo were rigorous—at least, I was, being tho best informed ono on that point—in examining and re-examining Fox as to the face, figure, dress, bearing of this man. Now Fox was super-gifted with powers of observation, the sort of fellow who sees all manner of things at a glance, and doesn't forget them. And when ho had given us a full and accurate description of the man, I knew that without doubt that he was tho man I had travelled with from Waterloo to Box Hill, who had asked his way to Mallaford Court, whom I had subsequently seen at the first proceedings against Ayrton and afterwards with Mallaford in his grounds —the man, in short, spoken of by Mallaford as an old acquaintance of his who had come to him for help. Good—we were getting on, at last, thanks to Fox as a sleuth-hound. But what next ? Tho next was that Fox followed Mrs. Barfoot and her companion out of the station and across the yard to Stewart's Restaurant. He followed them inside. They took a table on the ground floor; Fox seated himself at another, not far away. They proceeded to order dinner; so did Fox. And things went on quite pleasantly and smoothly, and there was nothing' out of the common until Fox, happening to glance around, suddenly

caught, sight of Webbam—whom ho liad seen, but who had never seen him, in the grounds of Mallaford Court. Webbam was walking along the ground floor of the restaurant when ho suddenly saw Mrs. Barfoot and the man. He instantly shrank back and retreated — but a moment later Fox saw him reappear in tho gallery above, where there are tables. There he remained, eating, drinking, watching. When Mrs. Barfoot and the man showed signs of departing. Webbam vanished —Fox lost him. But he had no intention of losing tho others. When they left, ho left. They got into a taxicab ; Fox got into another, after a moment's exchange of what he called freemasonry with its driver. Tho first cab went to the address which Fox had heard Mrs. Barfoot give on buying the zinc-lined trunk; tho second stopped a littlo way off, in time for Fox to see his quarries enter a certain house. In that house they remained about an hour; then they camo out, and went to a cab-stand. Tho man saw Mrs. Barfoot into a cab, waved her a good-bye, and turned away. And as Fox was about to enter another cab, he saw the man joined by Webbam, who —as it were—sprang up from nowhere. CHAPTER XVII. THE RING OF BELLS. This—for all practical purposes—was tho end of Fox's story; the rest of his doings, which merely consisted of following Mrs. Barfoot to Waterloo and so homeward, were of no moment. The next thing was to consider tho various points arising out of tho story. "To begin at the end," said Gray. " Did tho man appear surprised when Webbam greeted him?" " Not particluarly," replied Fox. " No more than any man would who was unexpectedly greeted." " What did ho do —what did they do?" asked Gray. "Just shook hands and walked away together, talking." "Any particular direction?'" " Yes—toward the house tho man nnd Mrs. Barfoot had just left." " Well —lei's have the precise address. You've .got it, of course." "37 Charlesborough Street, off Edgware Road." " What class of street's that?" " Um-middling. Poorish —sort of street where they let clieapish rooms and lodgings." "Is the house easy to watch?"

-"lt's uncommonly so!" said Fox, with some eagerness. " Nothing could be better situated for the purpose. Right opposite is a public-house, rather decent sort of tavern, called tiio Ring of Bells. From its windows you can watch Number 37 all day and all night.'' 1 Gray turned to me. " The scene shifts to London !" lie said. " We shall have to go up there. But not until I'vo ascertained a thing or two here." What he wanted to ascertain he did not tell me. Next morning ho disappeared for an hour after breakfast; when ho came back he drew me aside. " I've just had a talk with Peggy Flint." he said. "Truly useful and valuable girl, that! And I've learnt something. Webbam has gone away from tho Court —on his holiday; he went enrlv yesterday morning. And Mrs. Barfoot's shoes liavo gone with him! Anyhow, they aren't where he'd kept them." " Well?" I asked. "What do we do?" "Wo must go up to town," he answered. " You'll come and stay with mo at my flat—plenty of room there. And J'm to fix up Fox at that tavern he told up of last night—tho Ring of Bells—so that ho can keep an eye on Number 37, Charlesborough Street. Pack what you need and let's be off." At "that point Mr. Bussill turned up. He had gono to stay at tho Burford Bridge Hotel for a while, but he came in every day to have our latest news. Wo now'had to post him up as regarded Fox and his discoveries. He listened with grave attention. "What do you make of this?" ho asked Gray. " I mean, as it relates to tho secretary. Webbam " I think Webbam suspects Mrs. Barfoot." replied Gray. " I think he has an idea that she either had some share in tho murder of Susan Wheeler or that- she camo to know something about it. The mere fact that Webbain contrived to possess himself f>f Mrs. Barfoot s shoes the very day after tho murder —in fact within a very short, time, of the discovery of I lie body by Leicester!—goes_ to prove that. And probably Webbam is right!— wo can't overlook tho fact that both Susan and Mrs. Barfoot, otherwise Mrs. Carstone. both hail from Holford." Mr. Bussill considered matters a while, in silence. Ho seemed to bo reckoning things up —but what things one couldn't say. Let me speak to this young man Fox," ho said at last. " I want to ask him a question." Fox, introduced into tho old lawyer's presence, inspected Mr. Bussill with as much curiosity as Mr. Bussill showed in inspecting him. " Ah!" observed Mr. Bussill after peering long and silently at Fox. "Lin! Gifted, I perceive, with unusual powers of observation! Well, young man—tell me something. You saw Webbam como into tho restaurant where Mrs. Barfoot was dining with a man whom you didn't know, eh ? Well, now tell me this —do you think Webbam was surprised to see those two there?" "No doubt of it, sir!" affirmed Fox. "You don't think he'd gono 1o meet them —or to meet one or the other?" " I'm sure he hadn't, sir. He was strolling along the ground floor of the place, quito casually, when I saw him —being deformed as ho is, he's good to recognise. Ho was just looking round for a table—l'll swear ho'd nothing in his mind but his dinner. Then he caught sight of them too, and he drew back like a shot! Not only drew back but turned on his heel. I thought he was off, but within a minute I saw him up in the gallery. Ho got a table there, and kept having a peep at tho other two from behind a pillar." « Well—and when the strange man put Mrs. Barfoot into a taxi-cab in Edgeware Road and she drove off, you saw Webbam suddenly appear and accost him? Did tho strange man appear to be taken aback—surprised ?" "I asked him that," murmured Gray. " He didn't." " Well, not unduly," said Fox. " Just as I might be ;i bit surprised if Mr. Gray suddenly came up to mo in tho strec. when I wasn't expecting to se him." "Did they shako hands?" asked Mr. Bussill. " Yes, sir—and walked off, talking together." Mr. Bussill nodded his satisfaction at these replies, and turned to Gray. " What are your plans?" he asked Gray told him what he proposed—to post Fox where ho could keep an eye on Number 37, Charlesborough Street and to await a further report from him. What he, Gray, particularly wanted, to begin with, was that I should be able to identify tho strange man with whom Mrs. Barfoot had gono to that address as tho man who had visited Mallaford at Mallaford Court. If we could onco establish that fact, wo could then turn our attention to whatever relations existed between him and Mrs. Barfoot and between him and Webbam. " Very good!" said Mr. Bussill. " But I shall go to town, too. Not with you—--1 will como along later in therday. Oblige mo with your address, so that I can call on you there this evening." (To be continued.)