“Mere inquisitiveness,” Michael assured him. “You really needn’t treat me like a detective, you know.” “My mistake,” said Barnes. “But really, Fane. Let’s see, that is your name? Thought it was. I don’t often forget a name. No, without swank, Fane, I’ve been hounded off my legs lately. I’m living in Leppard Street. Pimlico way.” “I’d like to come and see you some time,” said Michael. “Here, straight, what _is_ your game?” Barnes could not conceal his suspicion. “Inquisitiveness,” Michael declared again. “Also I rather want a Sancho Panza.” “Oh, of course, any little thing I can do to oblige,” said Barnes very sarcastically. It took Michael a long time to convince him that no plot was looming, but at last he persuaded him to come to 173 Cheyne Walk, and after that he knew that Barnes could not refuse to show him Leppard Street. CHAPTER IV LEPPARD STREET While they were driving to Cheyne Walk, Michael extracted from Barnes an outline of his adventures since last they had met. The present narrative was probably not less cynical than the account of his life related to Michael on various occasions in the past; but perhaps because his imagination had already to some extent been fed by reality, he could no longer be shocked. He received the most sordid avowals calmly, neither blaming Barnes nor indulging himself with mental goose-flesh. Yet amid all the frankness accorded to him he could not find out why Barnes had changed his name. He was curious about this, because he could not conceive any shamelessness too outrageous for Barnes to reveal. It would be interesting to find out what could really make even him pause; no doubt ultimately, with the contrariness of the underworld, it would turn out to be something that Michael himself would consider trivial in comparison with so much of what Barnes had boasted. Anyway, whether he discovered the secret or not, it would certainly be interesting to study Barnes, since in him good and evil might at any moment display themselves as clearly as a hidden substance to a reagent flung into a seething alembic. It might perhaps be assuming too much to say that there was any good in him; and yet Michael was unwilling to suppose that all his conversions were merely the base drugs of a disordered morality. Apart from his philosophic value, Barnes might very actually be of service in the machinery of finding Lily. At 173 Cheyne Walk Barnes looked about him rather bitterly. “Easy enough to behave yourself in a house like this,” he commented.