"Mebbe we had," grunted the old man at the door. Then he and his companion moved out of the alley. They went but a little way when they came to a full stop, and entered into a low confab. A pair of keen eyes was watching them during the time, however, and a little later the man who had addressed the two strangers walked away. He passed to the rear of the block, and made his way by a back stairs to a room on the first floor. Here he found the one he was seeking-- Mrs. Scarlet--who was engaged in discussing a supper of bread and beer. She was alone. "Eh? so you're here again, Nick? Did he send ye?" "The Professor?" "Who else should I mean?" "Wall, he didn't, then. I seed a couple of blokes in the alley jist now, and they 'quired for you." "Why didn't you send 'em up?" and the woman laughed in a way that revealed her ragged teeth and unwholesome gums. "They'll be back soon 'nough," answered the man. "I've an idee they mean mischief. Better you go below and see 'em when they do come." "All right." About an hour after darkness had settled, while Madge Scarlet sat in the lower room, the one in which we have so many times met her, the door was unceremoniously opened, and a man crossed the threshold. An old man he was, with bent form and white hair, a hump disfiguring his shoulder, his trembling right hand resting on the top of a cane. "Good evening, mistress." The old man, who had closed the door sharply to behind him, sank to a rickety chair as he uttered the greeting. "I don't know you," retorted Madge Scarlet sharply. "Haven't you got into the wrong house?" "Well, I dunno," whined the man in a sharp falsetto voice. "I reckon if you're Mistress Scarlet, you're the one I'm to see." "I'm not ashamed to own to the name, old man. Let's have your business at once." "I'm pretty much broke up since I came out of the bastile," said the old man. "'Taint jest the place for a gentleman, I can tell you that. It's mighty down-settin' on one's pride, which I had a heap of afore I was sent to abide there." "Who are you and what are you driving at?" Mrs. Scarlet asked the question with a puzzled stare. She was possessed of a very suspicious nature, and she was not ready to accept a person on outward appearance alone. "I'm William Sugg, from Missoury," the old man answered promptly. "I came all the way to Shecargo to see the aunt of a friend. Mebbe you'll understand when I tell you, that Martin Skidway was one of the best friends an old man like me had in the bastile." The name of her nephew opened the way to Madge Scarlet's heart at once. She questioned Mr. Sugg about the young man, and he answered her with the assurance that they had been inmates of the same prison, and that Martin was losing flesh rapidly from melancholy. "It's the doings of that devil, Dyke Darrel," cried Mrs. Scarlet, losing her temper at thought of her troubles.