Jerce nodded and sat down quietly. He looked somewhat upset. "It is a very unpleasant business," he said, anxiously, "and I am to blame in not having allowed Ferdinand to inform the police about the assault made on me the other night. Had the man in grey been arrested, this warning or threat might not have come. Also the fact of the box with the purple fern would have ensured his hanging, as one of the gang who committed those cruel murders. I am much to blame. All I can say is, that not until I returned to Harley Street on that night did I guess why the man in grey wanted to search my pockets." "And why did he?" asked Clarice, who had been listening to this explanation with a puzzled look. "That's a long story." "Then begin at the beginning," said Ackworth, impetuously, "for I want to know everything so that I can see my way." "To what, Mr. Ackworth?" "To protecting Mr. Horran, and getting this blackguard arrested." Jerce nodded approvingly. "I shall lend you all the assistance I can, Mr. Ackworth," said he, firmly. "Unless this man is caught, he will be a veritable scourge to society." "The story--the story!" cried Clarice, with impatience. "It is, indeed, a story; more like romance than real life," said Jerce, quickly. "You know, Miss Baird, that I have a consulting room in Tea Street, Whitechapel." "Yes, Mr. Horran told me that also," said Anthony. "You physic poor people for nothing." "I do. I earn so much money in the West End that I think it is only right to use my talents for the poor. We must do what good we can in this world, you know, Mr. Ackworth. I don't set up for being a philanthropist, but in my humble way I do what good I can. Well, then," he resumed, quickly, seeing that Clarice was growing impatient again, "I was there--in Tea Street--some two months ago, and attended on a young man, who was dying of consumption. He appeared to be clever, refined, and intelligent, and, for that miserably poor quarter, his room was furnished with great taste and somewhat expensively. He seemed to be absolutely alone, and I did what I could to save his life. All my skill was of no avail, and he died. As I had refused to receive a fee, he gave me a sealed envelope, and told me to carry it constantly upon my person." "Why?" asked Clarice, wonderingly. "I'll tell you later. The dying man also warned me that if I was attacked by a fellow with a criss-cross scar on his left cheek, to open the envelope. Then the man died and was buried. I did not attach much importance to the sealed letter, and--" "Didn't you open it?" asked the girl, eagerly. "Not until the man in grey attacked me." "I should have opened it at once," she said, quickly.