"Good-day, Mr Gallagher; glad to meet you. How go matters in Donegal? and how is Lord Edward?" I stared at him in amazement. "I have not the honour to know you," said I, walking on. But he followed, linking his arm in mine. "Come now," said he; "you know me well enough. But be assured you have nothing to fear from me if you are open. Your name is well-known at the Castle as a leader of the conspiracy, and a friend of Lord Edward's. A word from me, and you would get free board and lodging in Newgate, if not a yard or two of rope thrown in; but I have no wish to hurt you. These are dangerous times, though." "I tell you, sir," repeated I, "I am not the man you take me for, so kindly address yourself to some one else." "Tush!" said he, "what's the use between friends? Tim Gallagher is as well-known a name as O'Connor's." Tim Gallagher! Then they took me for Tim, not myself. "And what information is it you want, and for whom?" I demanded, trying to conceal my curiosity. "Turn up here; it's quieter," said he, drawing me into a side street, "and I'll tell you. I've no commission, mind you, but I'll undertake to say your candour will be worth a couple of hundred pounds in your pocket within twenty-four hours." "Go on," said I, feeling my toes tingling to kick this man, who could suppose Tim Gallagher a common informer. "It's known you're lately returned from Paris," said he, "with an important message from the rebel leaders there, and that that message concerns among other things the coming French invasion." "Well?" "Well! can you ask? It is presumed the leaders in Dublin know your news by this time, and are making arrangements accordingly. If so, it is worth a couple of hundred pounds to you, as I said, to let me know what is going forward." "And if not?" "Simply that a warrant is out for the arrest of Timothy Gallagher, at present in Dublin disguised as a naval officer, and it rests with me to put it into motion. So come," said he, halting and facing me, "make up your mind." We had now reached the end of the street, which was a deserted one, backing on the Park. It had been all I could do to keep myself within bounds and refrain from knocking this contemptible cur on the head. Prudence, and a desire to learn something more about Tim alone had restrained me. Now that, one way or another, the matter was come to an issue, I hesitated as to what I should do. Either I might put him off, and invent a story to please him, or I might refuse to answer anything, or I might convince him of his mistake, or I might run for it. In the first case, I should be acting unfairly to Tim; in the other cases, I should be risking my own liberty at a time I particularly needed it. Suddenly a fifth course opened before me. At the end of the street was a coach- house, the door of which stood open, and the key on the outside. It had evidently been left thus by a careless groom, for the place was empty and no one was in sight.