At a little after five, on that day, four horses dashed round the corner of the Old Bailey, and drew up before the door of the Lodge. He beheld a tall gaunt man, his brown face corrugated like a winter's road, grim, stony. A man might be without relatives, but certainly he would not be without friends, that is to say, without letters. . After him! A hundred pounds to the man who takes him. And the sergeant, having carried out all Melusine’s instructions as if they had come out of his own head, went up to check on his patient, apparently at last convinced that his prisoner would not attempt to run away. “You will write to me, I am sure—and from the date of your letter I trust most earnestly that I may come back to my old place as “Your devoted friend, “WALTER BRENDON.
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