the bedroom windows were discreetly screened by lace curtains tied up with coloured ribbon. All these pretty things have taken somewhat long to describe, but the eagle eye of Mr. Parsons took them all in at a glance. A fishmonger's cart stopped at the side door, and Mr. Parsons noticed with satisfaction that a fine piece of salmon and a lobster were taken into the house by the purveyor's assistant. Mr. Parsons continued his walk as far as the next house, which proved to be an empty one and in the hands of the painters; their ladders and paint pots stood about in every direction, but the workmen themselves had evidently gone to dinner. Mr. Parsons shook out the contents of his pipe, pocketed it, and walking up to the hall door, which stood invitingly open, confidently entered the empty house; he walked into the drawing-room and on to the open Italian balcony beyond it, which commanded a view of the grounds of Azalea Lodge, and then Mr. Parsons stood wrapped in meditation. Something that he saw at a heavily-barred window on the ground floor of Azalea Lodge evidently gave him food for reflection. On a table covered with green baize lay a quantity of elaborate specimens of the silversmith's art, racing cups and trophies, vases and statuettes of burnished silver were there in profusion, and a heap of leathers and brushes showed that they were undergoing the process of cleaning. The eyes of Mr. Parsons sparkled with satisfaction; he looked round to see if he was observed. There wasn't a soul in sight. And then Mr. Parsons did a very curious thing; he gave a low growl, then a little yelp, and then an aggressive bark like an irritated dog. Then he began to bark again in a louder and still more defiant manner. But there was no answer to the strange challenge. Mr. Parsons gave a satisfied smile, walked quietly out of the empty house, re-lighted his pipe and resumed his walk. It's hardly likely that Mr. Parsons thought of renting the empty house next door to Azalea Lodge, but he walked past at least four times that afternoon. He went home to Matilda Street on the top of an omnibus, and then, like a respectable man as he was, he sat down to a good substantial tea. Before commencing a campaign a great general sits down to think it out. This is exactly what Mr. Parsons did. The tenant of number 13, Matilda Street had declared war against Azalea Lodge. From what he had seen, Mr. Parsons had no doubt whatever in his own mind that, should his campaign prove successful, he would secure the competence he had yearned for, for so many years and be able to retire from business altogether. That night Mr. Parsons visited a public house, paid for a glass of ale, and consulted the directory. He found that Azalea Lodge was occupied by Lord Hetton; the name seemed familiar to him; he turned to the landlord, who was a well-known sporting character, and sought for information.