"Ho! that's it, is it?" squeaked the rascal, with a puckered forehead; "now I jes' tell y', ole cove. I knows enough to mess up you and them bomb-pitchin' cusses, so you speak strite. Who's Mrs. Arne an' t'other chap?" "Anarchists," faltered Trall. "But it's not necessary to talk about them," he went on rapidly, "but about Mr. Mallow. He is a prisoner in the Soho house." "'Ow can I git im out?" "You can't get him out except at the risk of your life," said Trall, coldly. Vraik twisted his lean body and winced. "I've on'y one life, not bein' a cat," said he; "and I ain't goin' to chuck that away for Mr. Maller's. But I'm agoin' to 'ave 'im out if I rip that blessed shanty of yours from top to bottom." "There is only one man who can help you, and that is Monsieur Rouge." "Who's he? another of 'em? Wot's he like?" "Tall and lean, pale, light----" "Dressed in rummy blue bags? A furrin' cove! Ho, I've seed him goin' t'yer rabbit 'ole. And 'ow can 'e 'elp me?" Trall rose heavily. "Ask him, if you dare to. I'll tell him you want to see him." "Right y'are! He won't bring bustin' things with him?" "No." Trall reflected. "Where's Lord Aldean?" he asked. "Mr. Mallow talked of Lord Aldean." "He's gone to the Continong. He'll be back soon." "Then take Rouge to Lord Aldean. I don't think he'll deal with you." "My h'eye, won't he?" spluttered the little man; "e've horty pride, ain't it! oh, no! Well, jes' you fetch this cove along 'ere to-morrow at this time. I knows where Lord Aldean lives, an' I'll take 'im there." "I'll tell Rouge. He shall meet you here to-morrow." "No larks, min'!" said Vraik, sharply. "If 'e ain't 'ere, the perlice 'ull be at Soho, y'bet." "Rouge shall come. But keep my name quiet." "I'm dumb. Y'treat me strite, an' I'm yer pal. If y'don't--well, y'know my game." On this understanding the conference came to an end, and Trall rolled off half terrified, half assured. If the Anarchists could be captured, if his tormentor, Drabble, could be imprisoned, he would be free. "I can join Clara and Carlo then," thought the poor sot, "and be happy for the rest of my life. Ah! Michael had the head of the Tralls. If only I had been like Michael." He heaved a sigh, and, finding sorrow thirsty work, lurched into the nearest bar for another drink. In the meantime Vraik took a dive into the depths, and wriggling westward in his own slimy way, rose once more to the surface in the respectable neighbourhood of Campden Hill. He knew that Lord Aldean visited at the house there, and he had made up his mind that he would see the occupants and get them to communicate to Lord Aldean Mallow's peril. Confident in his new clothes, he stepped jauntily up to the door, and rang the bell. It was answered by the footman, who remembered his face from his previous visit.