So saying, the lad disappeared into an inner apartment with an air that seemed to insinuate that if Mr. Zevenboom might be impressed by the stranger, it was certainly more than he was. His feelings received rather a shock, however, when his employer informed him in a stage whisper that Mr. Burrell “_was the great detective_” and made him show him in at once and not keep him waiting. Jacob was accordingly ushered in, with becoming ceremony, and found himself received by a little man, whose beady black eyes and sharp features proclaimed his nationality more plainly than any words could have done. “Ah, mein dear friend,” said he, “I am glad to see you. It is long since we have met, and you are looking as well as ever you did.” “I am all right, thank you,” said Burrell genially. “Thank goodness, in spite of hard work, there’s never very much the matter with me.” Before he seated himself the other went to a cupboard at the back of his desk and, having unlocked it, took from it a cigar box, one of a number of others, which he placed upon the table at his guest’s elbow. “Try one of these,” he said, “you will smoke nothing better in all Europe. I pledge you the word of Israel Zevenboom to that.” “I can quite believe you,” said Burrell, and then mindful of the business that had brought him there, he added, “if there’s one man in all London who knows a good cigar I suppose you are that one.” The little man grinned in high appreciation of the compliment. “Cigars or cigarettes, I tell you, it’s all the same to me,” he said, spreading his hands apart. “There is no tobacco grown, or upon the market, that I can not put a name to.” “And you are familiar with all the best makers, I suppose?” The other again spread his hands apart as if such a question was not of sufficient importance to require an answer. “I know them all,” he continued pompously. “And they all know me. Morris and Zevenboom is a firm whose name is famous with them all.” A pause of upward of half a minute followed this remark, during which Burrell lit his cigar. “And now what can I do for you, my friend?” the other inquired. “I shall be most happy to oblige you as far as lies in my power. You were very good to me in de matter of----” He paused for a moment. Then he thought better of it and came to a sudden stop. “Well, in the matter that we both remember,” he added finally. “I want a little information from you, that I believe it is in your power to give,” said Burrell, taking a note book from his pocket and from it producing the scrap of cigarette he had taken from the gutter of the house in Burford Street. He placed it on the desk before his companion. “I want you to tell me if you can who are the makers of these cigarettes, and whether they can be obtained in England?”