"It’s only me," he said reassuringly as he turned the handle of a door and unceremoniously entered a small, barely-furnished, ill-kept room. A cheap oil lamp, smoking badly, was burning on the table, while near it, back in the shadow, sat the figure of a man huddled up in a ragged old armchair. "You!" he grunted. "You’ve been a long time! "I couldn’t get here before, Lionel. It was too dangerous. I had to see that all was clear before I to enter this street. There’s always a detective or two about here, and it wouldn’t do for you to be seen outside." "No," grunted the man, who, rising slowly to his feet came within the feeble zone of light which revealed a thin, bony face, with high cheek bones, an abnormal forehead, and a pair of deep-set dark eyes. The faded grey suit he wore was several sizes too big for him, yet his arms seemed of unusual length, and his hands were narrow and long, with talon-like fingers. His countenance was truly a strange one, being triangular, with very narrow chin and very broad brow—the face of a man who was either a genius or an idiot. "I waited all night for you!" he said in plaintive tones. "And you never came." "Well, I’m not going to risk anything—even for you!" replied Boyne roughly. "I’ve got quite enough of my own troubles just now." "Oh! What’s happened?" "Lots. It’s a good job I got you away from Hammersmith, my friend. The place has burned up!" "Burned up?" echoed the strange-looking man. "Oh! Then you’ve had the beautiful fire you used to talk about, eh? And has it all gone?" "The lot. And a darned good job for you!" "And that beautiful microscope?" the man asked regretfully. "Has that gone, too?" "Yes. The whole bag of tricks has been consumed. That’s why I didn’t come last night," Boyne said. "Oh! the beautiful mike!" exclaimed the abnormal creature, as though to himself. "And it cost such a lot—oh, such a lot!" "Don’t trouble about the microscope, you fool!" cried Boyne roughly. "Just try and pull yourself together and save your own skin. Where are those tubes? I want them." The lean man in the over-large suit ambled across the room, his head bent forward, for he was very round-shouldered, and going to an old leather bag in the corner, slowly unlocked it and drew out a thick cartridge envelope which contained something hard. Boyne took it from him quickly, and tearing it open, took out two dark-blue tubes of glass, the corks of which were sealed with wax. "Are they all right?" he asked harshly. "Can you guarantee them? Now don’t tell me a lie," he added threateningly, "or it will be the worse for you. I had a good mind to give you over to the police when you came to Pont Street the other night. You deserved it—venturing out like that." "I got to know where you were, and I had to come and see you," whined the ugly creature as he ambled back to his chair.