The men round the table nodded approval, and Westerham, while he marvelled at Melun's audacity, flushed a trifle angrily. It was unpleasant to be tarred with the same brush as these fellows. But he saw that he must sit it through. “Now, the very fact that this gentleman has taken part in this sort of business before,” Melun went on boldly, “made him suspicious of our good faith, and he asked for an actual demonstration that we were a working concern, and he would not be satisfied until I had proved it to him. I should, of course, have asked your permission to bring him here first, but the matter is most urgent. The fate of the whole thing may have to be settled to-morrow night.” He paused, and Westerham's blood began to run quickly through his veins. To-morrow night! To-morrow night the Prime Minister and Lady Kathleen gave their great reception. To-morrow night! Sir Paul wondered what connection there might be between Downing Street and Limehouse. Melun, however, continued to speak in the same suave tones. “To-morrow, as I say,” he declared, “may settle the whole affair. Before to-morrow night I have to show this gentleman—whose name, I may inform you, is James Robinson—that we are really in earnest. “Mr. Robinson,” he cried, turning towards Westerham, “are you satisfied?” “I am,” said Westerham, in a very quiet voice, allowing himself just enough of American drawl to catch some of the quick ears of his listeners. “From the States?” asked the man who sat next to him. Westerham nodded. Melun gave Westerham's interrogator a look as though he resented any attempt at conversation; and to prevent any further questioning he rose abruptly from the table. The rest of the men remained seated except the bullet-headed man, who, as Melun vacated his chair, slipped into his place. They were apparently about to discuss other matters, and were following the ordinary course of procedure. Seeing Melun rise, the negro, who all this time had been leaning against the door, lifted up his lantern again and showed them out. They passed through the opium den, and so into the little passage, when, as the negro was fumbling at the door, Westerham heard a long, piercing scream. It came again louder and shriller than before. There was a dreadful note of fear in it. It was the scream of a terrified girl. CHAPTER VI DOWNING STREET Westerham whipped round on his heel towards Melun. “What is that?” he asked sharply. Melun shrugged his shoulders. From Melun Westerham turned to the negro, whose teeth were bared in a wide grin. “What is that?” Westerham demanded of him. But the negro took his cue from Melun and merely shrugged his shoulders. Then there came the scream again, louder and more terror-stricken than before. Westerham did not hesitate. Before the negro had time to utter any protest he had snatched the lantern from his hand and was racing up the stairs.