The girl knew exactly how to get to Rotherhithe, as she had peeped into an ABC. before leaving Belstone. On arrival at Victoria it was necessary to take the underground route, which would conduct her directly to her destination. When on the spot Marie hoped by enquiries to learn the precise whereabouts of Mother Slaig, and moreover had a faint idea that the slum the harridan lived in was called Gibson’s Rents. To explore this low neighborhood she had put on an old serge frock and a shabby black jacket, so that she was as well disguised as her uncle had been when he sought Barkers Inn. Not that Marie was ever so well dressed as Mr. Sorley, for he never gave her sufficient money to be extravagant. The venturesome damsel duly reached Victoria Station, and had no difficulty in dropping downward to the nether railway line. Being yet a schoolgirl and feeling hungry, she bought some pastry of the jam-puff order and devoured it in the first-class compartment, which she shared with other ladies. Marie travelled in this most expensive fashion, because she thought she would be safer from being accosted by strangers. Destiny protected her in this especial way, and she gained Rotherhithe without having a single remark addressed to her. When she emerged into the open air once more, she looked helplessly around, not knowing which way to go. But she felt sure that Gibson’s Rents was the name of the slum, and asked a tall and burly policeman where it was to be found. The officer looked at her keenly, and saw that she was a lady in spite of her shabby clothes. “Why do you wish to go there, miss?” he asked, and touched his helmet, “it’s a rough place.” “I wish to see a woman called Mrs. Slaig.” “Mother Slaig. Why, miss, she’s one of the worst creatures in the slum. I don’t think it is wise of you to go, miss, I don’t indeed. You’re a district visitor, I take it, miss,” went on the man, who could conceive of no other object but philanthropy which would take the young lady into such a hole, “and Mother Slaig don’t want tracts.” Marie did not deny the identity the policeman attributed to her, as she was quick enough to see that such a character would expedite her journey, and would conceal her real intentions. She did not wish to be asked questions lest she should get into trouble, by interesting herself in a police-court case, such as the murder of Grison truly was. “I shall be all right, officer,” she answered lightly; “no one will hurt me.” “Well, miss, I don’t think they will, for they think a heap of district visitors at Gibson’s Rents, as these ladies give them money. But I can take you to the end of my beat and pass you on to another officer, who will show you the way. Come along, miss.”