Suddenly she thrust her head out of the window. "Please stop, cabman," she ordered. The man pulled up. It was not a difficult affair. "Is this Montague Street, W.C.?" she asked. The man looked as though he would have liked to deny it, but could not. "Stay where you are for a moment," she directed. "I want to find an address." The man contented himself with a nod. Anna rummaged about in her dressing-case, and finally drew out a letter. On the envelope was written-- Sydney Courtlaw, Esq., 13, Montague St. She put her head out of the window. "Number 13, please, cabman." "We've come past it, miss," the man answered, with a note of finality in his gruff voice. "Then turn round and go back there," she directed. The man muttered something inaudible, and gathered up the reins. His horse, which had apparently gone to sleep, preferred to remain where he was. After a certain amount of manoeuvring, however, he was induced to crawl around, and in a few minutes came to stop again before a tall brightly-painted house, which seemed like an oasis of colour and assertive prosperity in a long dingy row. This was number 13, Montague Street, familiarly spoken of in the neighbourhood as "White's." Anna promptly alighted with the letter in her hand. The door was opened for her by a weary-looking youth in a striped jacket several sizes too large for him. The rest of his attire was nondescript. "Does Mr. Courtlaw, Mr. Sydney Courtlaw, live here, please?" Anna asked him. "Not home yet, miss," the young man replied. "Generally gets here about seven." Anna hesitated, and then held out the letter. "I think that I will leave this letter for him," she said. "It is from his brother in Paris. Say that I will call again or let him know my address in London." The young man accepted the letter and the message, and seemed about to close the door when a lady issued from one of the front rooms and intervened. She wore a black satin dress, a little shiny at the seams, a purposeless bow of white tulle at the back of her neck, and a huge chatelaine. She addressed Anna with a beaming smile and a very creditable mixture of condescension and officiousness. Under the somewhat trying incandescent light her cheeks pleaded guilty to a recent use of the powder puff. "I think that you were inquiring for Mr. Courtlaw," she remarked. "He is one of our guests--perhaps I should say boarders here, but he seldom returns before dinner-time. We dine at seven-thirty. Can I give him any message for you?" "Thank you," Anna answered. "I have a letter for him from his brother, which I was just leaving." "I will see that he gets it immediately on his return," the lady promised. "You did not wish to see him particularly this evening, then?" Anna hesitated. "Well, no," she answered. "To tell you the truth though, I am quite a stranger in London, and it occurred to me that Mr. Courtlaw might have been able to give me an idea where to stop."