"Now, Mr. Rissler, to finish our interrupted conversation of the other night. But first of all about that gag. If I take it off, will you give me your promise, your parole, not to call or cry out, or do anything to bring outsiders in? Nod if you agree. Shake your head, if not." I nodded. "All right," he said. "But you'll be more comfortable sitting up, with your back to the wall, than lying on the floor full length. See, I'll prop you up that way, and now to take off the gag." While he was doing so I was planning a little surprise for him. Up to now he had, no doubt, for reasons of his own, been very careful to conceal his name from me. He had, to be sure, declared himself to be Napoleon, but Napoleon's present address is not to be found in any directory available for the purpose. That my theory of the identity of John Carleton, of No. 5, Taunton Square, with the man whom I knew as the Dumpling was correct, I was, in my own mind, entirely persuaded; but I was shy of theories, and anxious to replace them by actual knowledge. I was curious, too, to see what effect the fact that his real name was known to me would have upon him. Would he admit it? Would he deny it? Would it arouse him to anger or to fear? Means of knowing I had none, other than by putting the matter to the test; so, no sooner was I sitting up, with the gag removed, than I looked him straight in the face and shot my bolt. "Well, and how are you, Mr. John Carleton?" I said. CHAPTER XXIX. THE MYSTERY OF THE THIRD MAN. That my knowledge of his identity would come to him as a surprise, I was tolerably sure; and, in springing it thus suddenly upon him, I hoped to gather by his face, which I was watching narrowly meanwhile, whether he were moved by anger or by dismay. The result was a fiasco, a fizzle, an abject failure. Either he was the most consummate of actors, or, as is more likely, I the most consummate of fools; for he looked at me at first with bewilderment, and then with amusement, and finally burst into a hearty laugh. "So _that's_ who you think I am, is it?" he chuckled. "I saw by that speaking countenance of yours that you were hatching an egg (you are an Irishman, aren't you? so you won't mind my mixing my metaphors), but I didn't expect so weird a fowl as this." He took that morning's paper from his pocket, and holding it open before me, pointed to a paragraph, which ran as follows: "The freedom of the City of Carlisle will to-day, at noon, be conferred upon Mr. John Carleton, the eminent inventor, who was born in that city, and has devoted a large portion of the fortune he amassed in America to improving the homes of the poor in the place of his birth. Miss Clara Carleton and her niece, Miss Kate Carleton, have left 5, Taunton Square, W., for Homburg, where Mr. Carleton will shortly join them."