With a sense of vast satisfaction, therefore, I alighted from a cab in Adam Street, Strand, the same evening, and found myself standing outside the time-stained old building, with which so much of my past had been associated. As its well-known entrance met my gaze it appeared to be but yesterday when I left that very spot on the morning the first murder was committed in Bedford Place. Brushing aside these memories--for they threatened to become very dismal--I walked quickly upstairs to the well-remembered smoking-room, and glanced around. As I did this it occurred to me that I had made a great omission. I had forgotten to inform Bob by telegram that I so promptly accepted his invitation, and consequently he was not awaiting me, nor did I know a single face about me. Evidently there was no utility in staying there, for it might be hours before my friend put in an appearance. I knew his address, but did not feel in the humour for going to hunt him up; finally I resolved to go to a hotel at once. On regaining the street I noticed, crouching beside the iron railings, which, however, afforded him very little shelter, a haggard-looking man. His threadbare coat was buttoned tightly across his chest, and a battered silk hat, which had seen better days, was pulled down over his eyes, giving him a peculiar, almost repulsive, appearance. Under the rim of his hat a pair of sharp keen eyes glittered with a baleful yet anxious glare, and these two orbs were the most striking part of the man's _tout ensemble_. Something about the fellow's appearance caused me to regard him with attention. He did not withdraw his glance as mine rested on him. On the contrary, he seemed to become satisfied of my identity. With earnest gesture he rose and stopped me as I was about to enter the cab. "Now then; move on!" shouted a harsh voice, as the unknown placed his hand, lean, thin and dirty, upon the sleeve of my ulster. The figure of a constable loomed up suddenly in the flickering gaslight. "Stay! What is it you want?" I asked, for my heart seemed to tell me he was no ordinary alms-seeker. He was about to reply, and I could feel his hand upon my arm trembling with eagerness, when the policeman again interposed. "He's only a-beggin' again, sir," said that worthy. "I often turn him away when he's bothering the gents--and that's pretty nigh always," he added, in a grumbling undertone. "What's the matter with him?" I inquired, noting the paleness of the poor fellow's face. Before I could say another word his hold on my arm had relaxed, and he fell backwards, almost into the arms of the too zealous officer. Bending beside him, I ordered some brandy to be brought, and in spite of the assurance from my astute friend that "he was not worth the trouble," I did all I could to restore the inanimate form to consciousness.