“I have only a question to ask,” said Sir Brook, half to himself as he ascended the stairs. As he gained the landing and rang, the door opened and Mr. Balfour appeared. “I regret to detain you, sir,” began Sir Brook, as he courteously raised his hat. “Mr. Balfour, I believe.” “You are right as to my name, but quite as wrong if you fancy that you will detain me,” said that plump and very self-satisfied gentleman, as he moved forward. “And yet, sir, such is my intention,” said Sir Brook, placing himself directly in front of him. “That is a matter very soon settled,” said Balfour, returning to the door and calling out, “Pollard, step down to the lower yard, and send a policeman here.” Sir Brook heard the order unmoved in manner, and even made way for the servant to pass down the stairs. No sooner, however, was the man out of hearing than he said, “It would be much better, sir, not to render either of us ridiculous. I am Sir Brook Fossbrooke, and I come here to learn at what time it would be his Excellency's pleasure to receive me.” The calm quiet dignity in which he spoke, even more than the words, had its effect on Balfour, who, with more awkwardness than he would like to have owned, asked Sir Brook to walk in and be seated. “I have had a message for you from his Excellency these three or four days back, and knew not where to find you.” “Did it never occur to you to try what assistance the police might afford, sir?” said he, with deep gravity. “One thinks of these generally as a last resource,” said Balfour, coolly, and possibly not sorry to show how imperturbable he could be under a sarcasm. “And now for the message, sir,” said Fossbrooke. “I'll be shot if I remember it. Wasn't it something about an election riot? You thrashed a priest, named Malcahy, eh?” “I opine not, sir,” said Sir Brook, with a faint smile. “No, no; you are the great man for acclimatization; you want to make the ornithorhynchus as common as the turkey. Am I right?” Sir Brook shook his head. “I never have my head clear out of office hours, that 's the fact,” said Balfour, impatiently. “If you had called on me between twelve and three, you 'd have found me like a directory.” “Put no strain upon your recollection, sir. When I see the Viceroy, it is probable he will repeat the message.” “You know him, then?” “I have known him eight-and-forty years.” “Oh, I have it,--I remember it all now. You used to be with Colonel Hanger and Hugh Seymour and O'Kelly and all the Carlton House lot.” Fossbrooke bowed a cold assent. “His Excellency told us the other evening that there was not a man in England who had so many stories of the Prince. Didn't Moore go to you about his Life of Sheridan?--yes, of course,--and you promised him some very valuable documents; and sent him five-and-twenty protested bills of poor Brinsley's, labelled 'Indubitable Records.'” “This does not lead us to the message, sir,” said Foss-brooke, stiffly.