"The inquiries may carry us far afield; I have a keen presentiment that they will. Therefore if I am suddenly absent do not trouble on my account. My silence will mean that I am watchful and active. When I am abroad I make a point of receiving no letters, therefore do not write. I always communicate with my friends through the advertisement columns of the _Times_. To you I shall be `Silence.' "Take the paper daily and watch for any message I may send you. You have a car outside, I suppose? I wonder whether you would take me to Tottenham Court Road?" he asked. Thereupon we went below, and after a whispered conversation with Antonio, who was waiting in one of the back rooms, he mounted into the car, and Dick drove us very slowly through the fog half-way down Tottenham Court Road, where Kirk alighted. "Shall I wait for you?" I asked. "No," he replied; "I really don't know how long I shall be. Besides, I shall not return to Bedford Park to-night. It's very kind of you, but I won't trouble you further. Good night, Mr. Holford! Perhaps I shall see you to-morrow. If not, then recollect to keep an eye upon the _Times_ for a message from `Silence.'" And he shook my hand, descended, and went forward into the yellow fog. My curiosity was aroused; therefore in an instant I had resolved to follow him and ascertain whither he went. In the direction he had taken towards Oxford Street, I started off, but before me the lights blurred in the misty obscurity. Foot-passengers on the pavement loomed up in the uncertain light and melted again, and as I hurried on I discerned the figures before me with difficulty. Where the shopfronts were lit were patches of red mist, but where they were closed it was almost complete darkness, for in that neighbourhood the fog was thicker than further westward, and Dick had had considerable trouble in finding his way there at a snail's pace. In my haste I collided with several persons coming my way, apologising and going forward again until I came to a corner where a shop was well-lit. Of a sudden I distinguished the man I was following; he had halted in conversation with the shop-keeper, who was pointing up the side street. In the fog, Kirk was evidently out of his bearings. I drew back, so as to escape observation, but I watched him plunge into the darkness of the side street, and I was soon at his heels. It was a squalid neighbourhood into which we had entered. I had been through it before, but was not certain which street it might be down which we were going. Guided by his footsteps I went on behind him. Fortunately my tread was soft, owing to the rubber heels I wore. At the crossing I listened, at first uncertain whether he had turned to the right or left, or gone straight on. Again the footsteps sounded out of the obscurity, which now caused my eyes to smart, and I knew that he had gone straight forward, so on I went.