Mr. Whybrow was in bed, pining for liquor. I sent out for a quartern of gin--that being the cheapest tipple--and under its influence, and fortified by my saying that I thought I should be able to bring Madame Lourbet to book in his interests, he became communicative. I learned that she had two friends who visited her from time to time, and with whom he was not allowed to strike up an acquaintance. One of these was a man, the other a woman. I paid close attention to his description of the man, whom he suspected had supplanted him in her affections. This man was tall and dark; but he had no beard or whiskers. I thought of Wheeler's words, "they might have been false," and I left Mr. Whybrow with the conviction that it was the man who had followed me from Soho. If that were so I had alarmed him by my reference to Louis' mother, and he had signaled to Madame Lourbet to give her a warning that I might be a spy; his beard and whiskers being false was another point in my favor. I had sufficient confidence to introduce myself in my own proper person to that lady and make a trifling purchase. She served me politely, but there was trouble in her face, which rather pleased me than otherwise. I was pleased, too, that she betrayed no recognition of me, and did not connect me with the man who had paid her a visit the night before. Leaving her, I went on to John Fordham, who was still under remand, and likely to remain so for some time yet, for the police had not progressed in their inquiries, and Fordham had made no recantation of the accusation he had brought against himself. Cheering him with the news that I was gathering valuable information (of which I did not give him the particulars) I obtained from him a description of Maxwell's personal appearance. Tall and dark, wearing neither beard nor whiskers. That settled it. Maxwell was the man who was stationed behind the green curtain, who had shadowed me to my lodgings, and who was so frightened by Fordham's public confession of the murder that, for his own safety's sake, he went about now in a disguise. Good. Then on to my office, where Mrs. Barlow was waiting to supply me with a description of the birth marks of her missing son by which he could be identified. These have already been recorded and need no further mention here. Needless to say, I did not inform Mrs. Barlow that I had already obtained a clue to the career of her son since she last saw or heard from him.