Couldn't manage it, I think, if she had; for my missis, who's been up several times since, says the milliner says her lodger's in a queer way, she thinks." "How do you mean in a queer way?" interrupted Bowker; "ill?" "Well, not exactly ill, I think, sir. I can't say exactly how, for the milliner's rather a stupid woman; and it wouldn't do for my missis--though she'd find it out in a minute--to see the lady. As far as I can make out, it's a kind of fits, and she seems to have had 'em pretty bad--off her head for hours at a time, you know. It's rather cornered me, that has, as I don't exactly know how to act in the case; and I went round to the Square to tell his lordship, and then found out what had happened. I was thinking of asking to see the Hearl--" "The what, Mr. Blackett?" "The Hearl--Hearl Beauport, his lordship's father. But now you've come, sir, you'll know what to do, and what orders to give me." "Yes, quite right," said Bowker, after a moment's consideration. "You must not see Lord Beauport; he's in a sad state of mind still, and any further worry might be dangerous. You've done admirably, Mr. Blackett,--admirably indeed; and your reward shall be proportionate, you may take my word for that; but I think it will be best to leave matters as they are until--at all events, until I have spoken to my friend. The name was Lambert, I think you said; and what was the address?" "No. 102, Thompson Street, just beyond Nottin'-'Ill Gate; milliner's shop, name of Chapman. Beg your pardon, sir, but this is a pretty case, and one as has been neatly worked up; you won't let it be spoilt by any amatoors?" "Eh?--by what? I don't think I understand you." "You won't let any one go makin' inquiries on their own hook? So many of our best cases is spoilt by amatoors shovin' their oars in." "You may depend on that, Mr. Blackett; the whole credit of the discovery is justly due to you, and you shall have it. Now good day to you; I shall find you here, I suppose, when next I want you?" Mr. Blackett bowed, and conducted his visitor through the hollow-sounding corridors, and bade him a respectful farewell at the door. Then, when William Bowker was alone, he stopped, and shook his head sorrowfully, muttering, "A bad job, a bad job! God help you, Geoff, my poor fellow! there's more trouble in store for you--more trouble in store!" CHAPTER VII. TRACKED.