It was seven o'clock before Mr. Edmund Gray arrived. 'Ah! child,' he cried tenderly, 'you are here before me. I was delayed--some business. What was it? Pshaw! I forget everything. Never mind--I am here; and before we take a cab, I want you once more to go through with me the points of my new Catechism. Now, if you are ready.' 'Quite ready, Master.' * * * * * At half-past seven Checkley arrived at his corner and took a preliminary survey of the Square. 'There he is,' said the Policeman. 'There he is again,' said two laundresses conversing on a doorstep. 'There he is as usual,' said the newspaper man. 'Now,' asked all in chorus, 'what's he want there?' Mr. Checkley looked out from his corner, saw no one in the Square, and retreated into his passage. Then he looked out again, and retreated again. If anyone passed through the passage, Checkley was always walking off with great resolution in the opposite direction. Presently, in one of his stealthy peerings, he happened to look up. Then he started--he shaded his eyes: he looked his hardest. Yes, at the open window, freely displayed, without the least attempt at concealment, he saw the head and face of Miss Elsie Arundel. There! There! What more was necessary? Edmund Gray was Athelstan Arundel, or George Austin, or both--and Elsie Arundel was an accomplice after the act. There! There! He retreated to the seclusion of the passage and rubbed his hands. This would please Sir Samuel. He should hear it that very night. This ought to please him very much, because it made things so clear at last. There she was--up-stairs, in the Chambers of Mr. Edmund Gray--in the very room! There! There! There!