"Of course you have. That is quite right. They are very presentable people, as I have said, and are well circumstanced in their own country. I suppose they have come to America upon matters of pressing importance." "I don't know," said Christopher Dent. "Surely," said Mr. Sparhawk persuasively, "they have at some time or other asked you for some small item of information that would give you an idea of their mission." "Why, no," said the little apothecary. "They have not. They are people who keep themselves to themselves a great deal." "I see," said Mr. Sparhawk. "Yes, yes, I see." He then changed the subject and talked of trade in general, the coming winter, of the lighting of the streets, of the watch. And then of crime. "Time was," said he, "when actual crime of any sort was rare among us. But, now, we've reached a point where even those of violence cause no more than a flurry. Take that affair of Magruder, now--an honest, thriving man. Someone enters his place while he is engaged with his work, and in an instant stops his life. The coroner's jury speaks harshly against the criminals and invites all law-abiding people to bring them to justice. But it will take more than a declaration of indignation and a summons to civic reprisal to effect any good. The persons guilty of this action are still at large and, from all appearances, are likely to remain so." The little apothecary shook his head and looked perturbed. "Dear, dear," said he. "A pretty pass, indeed. I suspect the safety of the streets, for all they are so well lit, and so told Monsieur Lafargue, as he went out to-night." "He has gone out, then?" said Mr. Sparhawk, and there was interest in his face. "A half-hour or more ago," replied Christopher. "And he seemed quite infirm, and made much use of his cane." Mr. Sparhawk now made some trifling purchase and left the shop. Christopher returned to the back room. Tom was staring at the blaze through the open door of the stove; without turning his head, or shifting his eyes, he said: "That was Sparhawk." "Yes," said Christopher. "An agreeable person. He's considerate of everything and every one." There was a little pause, and then Tom Horn said: "Why did he ask about your lodgers?" "He didn't," stated the apothecary mildly. "I mentioned them." "He made you do it," said Tom Horn. "I heard him." Christopher Dent blinked at his friend in surprise and rubbed his bald head. "Last night," said Tom, "I went to the Boatswain-and-Call after I left the counting-room. I always go there for my supper. Mr. Sparhawk was in the bar." "Of the Boatswain-and-Call?" said Christopher. "What was he doing there?" "He had a mug of ale, a thick cut of bread, and the leg of a fowl. But, for all he ate with good appetite, he wasn't there for that. No, it was to talk with me." "Did he tell you so?" asked the apothecary. "No," said Tom Horn. "He didn't need to." Just then the subdued _rat-tat-tat_ of a knocker sounded.