A very decent young man had come into the bar, whom the detective judged, by his appearance, to be of the Good Samaritan sort, disposed to help in a case of trouble. Propping the almost comatose man well against the table, he went up to this individual and besought his assistance. “My friend has been overcome, been taking too much before I met him, I expect,” was his explanation. “I want to get him away without fuss, if I can. If you would kindly call a taxi, and come back here and lend a helping hand, I am sure I can manage it. I doubt if he can walk very well, but between us we can manage to shove him along and get him in the taxi.” The decent-looking young man responded nobly to the appeal. In a very short time, Mr. Newcombe, still half asleep and almost deprived of the powers of motion, was being borne in the direction of King’s Cross. About half-way on the journey, he made one of those remarkable recoveries which are frequently to be observed in the devotees of alcohol. He was still far from sober, but his partial slumber, and the rather keen fresh air blowing through the open taxi-windows on his inflamed face, had cleared his faculties to a certain extent. He was able to appreciate and thank the detective for what he had done. “The act of a pal, that’s what it is,” he hiccoughed. “If ever your turn comes and I’m there, I’ll do the same with you. If you had sneaked out and left me, I should have been run in as safe as eggs.” His mind suddenly reverted to the events of a short time ago. “By gosh, if it had been that fellow with the flunkeys and the fine car, he’d have left me in the lurch. I say, mister, I don’t know your name, perhaps I was a bit gone; he bawled at me that I was a drunken dog.” There was something very comical in his almost abject aspect as he put this question. Grewgus could hardly keep from laughing. “I should say more than likely, my friend. You strike me as one of those chaps who can get drunk and sober again three or four times in a day. We shall be there in a very few minutes. I expect you will find yourself able to walk without assistance when we get out.” And so it proved. When the taxi drew up before the shabby-looking house in one of the meanest streets in the locality, Mr. Newcombe was able to comport himself with a certain amount of steadiness. He apologized for not being able to ask his companion up, as he occupied one apartment at the top of the house, and there was, alas! no refreshment to offer a guest when he got there. “I’ve sense enough not to keep it in the house,” he said with a cunning smile. “Having to go out for it does put a bit of a stopper on me. You see, I know my weakness. But I tell you what--I want to prove to you that I look upon you as a pal, one of the right sort. If you’ll make an appointment to meet me to-morrow, not perhaps at the same place, we’ll have a return match.”