One thing was very certain, however great the crush might have been, it would have been difficult to mistake Carne’s figure. The man’s infirmity and the peculiar beauty of his face rendered him easily recognizable. Possibly, after his long sojourn in India, he found the morning cold, for he wore a long fur coat, the collar of which he had turned up around his ears, thus making a fitting frame for his delicate face. On seeing Lord Amberley he hastened forward to greet him. "This is most kind and friendly of you," he said, as he shook the other by the hand. "A fine day and Lord Amberley to meet me. One could scarcely imagine a better welcome." As he spoke, one of his Indian servants approached and salaamed before him. He gave him an order, and received an answer in Hindustani, whereupon he turned again to Lord Amberley. "You may imagine how anxious I am to see my new dwelling," he said. "My servant tells me that my carriage is here, so may I hope that you will drive back with me and see for yourself how I am likely to be lodged?" "I shall be delighted," said Lord Amberley, who was longing for an opportunity, and they accordingly went out into the station yard together to discover a brougham, drawn by two magnificent horses, and with Nur Ali, in all the glory of white raiment and crested turban, on the box, waiting to receive them. His lordship dismissed his victoria, and when Jowur Singh had taken his place beside his fellow-servant upon the box, the carriage rolled out of the station yard in the direction of Hyde Park. "I trust her ladyship is quite well," said Simon Carne politely, as they turned into Gloucester Place. "Excellently well, thank you," replied his lordship. "She bade me welcome you to England in her name as well as my own, and I was to say that she is looking forward to seeing you." "She is most kind, and I shall do myself the honor of calling upon her as soon as circumstances will permit," answered Carne. "I beg you will convey my best thanks to her for her thought of me." While these polite speeches were passing between them they were rapidly approaching a large billboard, on which was displayed a poster getting forth the name of the now famous detective, Klimo. Simon Carne, leaning forward, studied it, and when they had passed, turned to his friend again. "At Victoria and on all the bill boards we met I see an enormous placard, bearing the word ’Klimo.’ Pray, what does it mean?" His lordship laughed. "You are asking a question which, a month ago, was on the lips of nine out of every ten Londoners. It is only within the last fortnight that we have learned who and what ’Klimo’ is." "And pray what is he?"