"Oh, I thought you had gone," she said, "but I’m glad you haven’t, for I want to thank you for your thoughtful note of last night. And now Mr. Parks has sent me word that he is too busy to come up this afternoon, and I was wondering how I could get a few lines to him. I am so afraid he is planning something very reckless--something that will get him into trouble. If I did not fear that he would be angry, I should go down and speak to him myself." "If that is all that’s worrying you, I’ll see that he gets your letter--that is, if you can give me any idea where he is to be found." "He wrote that he should be detained all the afternoon at Mr. Blasius’ place, with some very important committee meetings." The idea of Mercy’s seeking Parks in the House of Blazes struck me as slightly amusing, but I forebore to enlighten her as to the social position of H. Blasius, and she continued: "Now if you know where that is, you might send one of your men down there with this note." And she handed me an envelope addressed to "Mr. Gerald Parks." "You are sure it is not asking too much of you? I hope you are enough interested in him to wish to keep him from trouble." I assured her that I was glad to be of service, and she thanked me with a dash of color in her pale face. *CHAPTER XIX* *MISCHIEF AFOOT* My first thought in accepting Mercy Fillmore’s commission had been to intrust her letter to one of my men. But once outside the house, it dawned upon me that I held in my hand a provident excuse to seek the conspirators in their lair. The hint by which Parks had roused such enviable anxiety corroborated the information I had received from my spy service. The campaign of action was evidently at hand, and I might possibly learn from a personal visit what I could not learn through others--provided I could pass unchallenged through the doors of the House of Blazes. The letter I held was a card of admission certain to be honored, if Parks were there. For the rest, chance must serve to expose or to conceal the plans that were keeping the agitators’ committees in prolonged session. H. Blasius received me with reserve born of suspicion, and his bleary eyes searched my face coldly at my name and my demand for Parks. "Meestaire Park? Why do you want him?" he inquired at last. "I have a very important message for him," I replied. "Gif to me ze message," said Blasius. "When Meestaire Park he come, he shall have it." "I couldn’t give it to you," I said. "I am to deliver it into his hands only. And I can tell you that he will be very angry if there’s any delay about it." H. Blasius’ pasty face took on an expression of dismay at the thought of an angry Parks, and with a grumbling of French interjections that suggested the cracking of his ill-regulated internal machinery, he waddled to a doorway at the end of the bar, and disappeared up a box stairway.