As the church bells chimed eleven, Richard Manx entered Mrs. Preedy's house, No. 118, letting himself in with his latch-key. He passed the man who was walking round the Square, but took no notice of him. As he stood at the street door, searching in his pocket for his latch-key, the man passed the house, and did not even raise his eyes to Richard Manx's face. The presumption was that they were utterly indifferent to each other; but presumptive evidence is as often wrong as right, and between the actions of these two men, strangers to each other, existed a strong link which boded ill to one of them. At a quarter past eleven Mrs. Preedy, somewhat later than her wont, bustled out of her house for her nightly gossip with Mrs. Beale. By this time the rain was coming down faster, and when Mrs. Preedy disappeared, Great Porter Square may be said to have been deserted, with the exception of the one man who had been walking there for an hour, and the policeman sauntering at the corner. The man now paused before Mrs. Preedy's house, and knocked softly at the door. Becky's sharp ears caught the sound, soft as it was, and she ascended from the basement, and inquired who was there. The answer was: "A friend." Becky opened the door, and peered out, but it was too dark for her to recognise the man's face. "It's all right, Miss," said the man, "I've been here before. I brought a packet and a letter to you from Mr. Frederick. He sent me here now." "How am I to know that?" asked Becky. The man smiled in approval, and handed Becky an envelope addressed to herself. She retreated into the passage, and while the man remained upon the doorstep, she opened the envelope and stooped down. There was a candle on the floor which she had brought up from the kitchen, and by its light she read the few words written on the note paper. "The man who gives you this is the detective I mentioned in my letter this morning. Trust him and attend to his instructions.--FREDERICK." Becky returned to the detective and said: "I know you now. What do you want me to do?" "Is there any chance of Richard Manx hearing us?" asked the detective. Becky, placing her fingers to her lips went to the basement stairs and called: "Fanny!" The child appeared immediately, and Becky whispered in her ear for a few moments. Fanny nodded, and crept softly upstairs in the direction of the garret occupied by Richard Manx. "We are safe," said Becky to the detective. "Richard Manx cannot hear what we say. Fanny is keeping watch on him."