“Yes, sir, sure enough, they are marked L. B. I remember it was L. B. because I looked particular to see if they were marked in full, in hopes of finding out about her. There it is, sir, L. B. clear enough.” “And now, Mrs. Holl, have you any reason to suppose any one has ever had any interest, or watched the boy?” “Yes, sir, that there has.” And here Mrs. Holl related at length the history of the mysterious visits of Barton, and how they had found out that he had once been a Bow Street runner, but now kept a private detective office. Prescott looked serious. “This is bad news, Mrs. Holl. It looks as if the boy’s friends knew of his whereabouts, but did not choose to own him. However, it may not be so,” he said, thoughtfully; “this man may have found it out accidentally, and kept it dark with a purpose of making money some day out of the secret. And now, Mrs. Holl, what year was it the poor woman came here?” “In May, sir, 1831. Her child was about two months old then.” “That will do, Mrs. Holl. Please lend me the seal, I will take great care of it. Do not say anything to James; I may be mistaken, and nothing may come of it after all. I will see you again to-morrow or next day.” Prescott walked away very slowly, and went the whole length of Sloane Street, up and down, thinking over the best course to pursue. He then turned into Lowndes Square, and knocked at the door which was once so familiar to him. “Is Captain Bradshaw in?” “Yes, sir.” And Prescott was shown into the drawing-room. Captain Bradshaw and Miss Heathcote were both there; and Prescott, who in the thoughts of the important business in hand, had forgotten the possibility of his meeting Alice, stood for a moment irresolute. Captain Bradshaw frowned heavily for a moment, on hearing the name. Alice Heathcote turned a little pale. “Mr. Prescott, I am glad to see you,” Captain Bradshaw said, coming forward and shaking hands. “Alice, you remember Mr. Prescott?” Alice did, and shook hands too, and really warmly; in the first place, because with a woman’s intuition she had known of old that he had loved her, and in the next place because he was Frank’s dearest friend. Why she should have liked him for the last reason she could not have explained even to herself. “Mr. Prescott,” Captain Bradshaw went on, “I am really glad to see you, and shall be always happy to do so; but only upon the condition, the absolute condition, that you make no allusion to past times, or to other persons. In fact that you come here as Mr. Prescott, to see an old friend, and not in the quality of an ambassador for other people.”