As a matter of fact, too, if anybody sought a spot where he could hide effectually from police and public in London, he could never choose a better or a more suitable district than the aristocratic portions of Hampstead. Much of the wild character of the heath still lingers in those avenues, and the dwellers in those parts are curiously few, select, and quite indifferent to what goes on outside their own ken. St Bruno's, I discovered, was one of the finest of the many fine but solitary-looking mansions that still exist in Chantry Road. It stood at the far end of the thoroughfare in a _cul de sac_, in which but one gas lamp burned feebly, throwing into more striking relief the dense, dark character of the surrounding trees and moss-grown pavement. The only entrance to the place I could find was a small oaken door in a lofty wall of stone, like those we see built so often for the vestries of our parish churches, and when I pulled an old and rusty iron bell-ring there was a disquietening pause of some minutes before I heard the movement of any servant. Even then the door itself did not open, but a small panel about nine inches square was thrust apart at a point about the height of the average man and commanding a good view of the stranger's face and form. "What seek you, my son?" asked a clear, refined voice like a priest's, but when I answered; "Don Jose Casteno--he has sent for me," all was changed. The space beyond seemed flooded with light--the door itself was thrown open wide--and I found myself being escorted by a man in the habit of a Benedictine monk, across a flagged courtyard to a fine building, the entrance to which was commanded by two huge wooden doors. "This is the home of the Order of St Bruno," said my guide, who was old and decrepit, apparently about sixty years of age. His tones were those of courteous conversation as used by a man of culture, and he swung to and fro an old lantern he was carrying to light my path as we both waited patiently for somebody inside the building to unbar this formidable-looking entrance. "We St Bruno-ites," he added, "have houses in many quarters--in Delhi for instance, in Sydney, in America-- but this is our principal place." "Roman Catholic, of course," I remarked, buttoning up my overcoat, for I felt chilled after my brisk ride. "Or High Church?" I ventured as I saw his bright eyes frown.