“I could manage that for ye, sir. I ken maist the haill mengie o’ the detaictives.” “But you see, unfortunately, I don’t wish, for particular reasons, that the police should have anything to do with it.” “Ay! ay! Hm! Hm! I see brawly. Ye’ll be efter a stray sheep, nae doot?” Hugh did not reply; so leaving him to form any conclusion he pleased. “Ye see,” MacPherson continued, “it’s no that easy to a body that’s no up to the trade. Hae ye ony clue like, to set ye spierin’ upo’?” “Not the least.” The man pondered a while. “I hae’t,” he exclaimed at last. “What a fule I was no to think o’ that afore! Gin’t be a puir bit yow-lammie like, ‘at ye’re efter, I’ll tell ye what: there’s ae man, a countryman o’ our ain, an’ a gentleman forbye, that’ll do mair for ye in that way, nor a’ the detaictives thegither; an’ that’s Robert Falconer, Esquire.—I ken him weel.” “But I don’t,” said Hugh. “But I’ll introduce ye till ‘im. He bides close at han’ here; roun’ twa corners jist. An’ I’m thinkin’ he’ll be at hame the noo; for I saw him gaein that get, afore ye cam’ up to me. An’ the suner we gang, the better; for he’s no aye to be gotten hand o’. Fegs! he may be in Shoreditch or this.” “But will he not consider it an intrusion?” “Na, na; there’s no fear o’ that. He’s ony man’s an’ ilka woman’s freen—so be he can do them a guid turn; but he’s no for drinkin’ and daffin’ an’ that. Come awa’, Maister Sutherlan’, he’s yer verra man.” Thus urged, Hugh rose and accompanied the policeman. He took him round rather more than two corners; but within five minutes they stood at Mr. Falconer’s door. John rang. The door opened without visible service, and they ascended to the first floor, which was enclosed something after the Scotch fashion. Here a respectable looking woman awaited their ascent. “Is Mr. Falconer at hom’, mem?” said Hugh’s guide. “He is; but I think he’s just going out again.” “Will ye tell him, mem, ‘at hoo John MacPherson, the policeman, would like sair to see him?” “I will,” she answered; and went in, leaving them at the door. She returned in a moment, and, inviting them to enter, ushered them into a large bare room, in which there was just light enough for Hugh to recognize, to his astonishment, the unmistakeable figure of the man whom he had met in Whitechapel, and whom he had afterwards seen apparently watching him from the gallery of the Olympic Theatre. “How are you, MacPherson?” said a deep powerful voice, out of the gloom. “Verra weel, I thank ye, Mr. Falconer. Hoo are ye yersel’, sir?” “Very well too, thank you. Who is with you?”