"Don’t do it again! Remain in hiding. Keep close here. You are in comfortable quarters. Old Mrs. Sampson below is always silent as regards her lodgers. Lots of men who have had this room have hidden from the police till they found a way out of it. Take my advice, and do the same. But don’t attempt to come round to Pont Street—for we don’t want you there, _understand that_?" And he put the little glass tubes, which contained fatal bacteria, back into their envelope and placed them carefully in his pocket. "But money! I must have money!" cried the other, a young-old man whose age it was impossible to determine though his hair was growing grey. "Of course you must," laughed Boyne. "Here’s fifty pounds to go on with. And keep a still tongue or it will be the worse for you. Recollect if you are unfortunate enough to be arrested, it will only be because of your own idiotic movements. Keep quiet here." "Misfortune may befall any of us!" said the other in that peculiar whining voice which showed that his mental balance was not normal. "True. But if you do happen to fall into the hands of the police, remember—breathe not a word. Trust to me to help you out of the scrape. Trust Mrs. Sampson downstairs—and trust me." "Yes. But, oh, that beautiful mike! Burnt up. That beautiful mike!" "Don’t bother about that. I’ll buy you another, and all the apparatus if you’ll only keep a still tongue and remain in the house. I’ve told Mrs. Sampson not to let you out." "Oh! I won’t go out. I promise you I won’t," he said with an idiotic stare. "I only went to Pont Street because I wanted to know if you were all right." "And incidentally you wanted money!" laughed the other. "Well, you had it—you have it again now. Remain quiet and content. I’m busy. I’ve got lots of things to look after. I’ve probably got to go away, but I’ll see you have money to go on with all right." "Very well," said the strange man. "This place is better than Hammersmith, living in a locked room for weeks and months, nobody to see, and only breathing the fresh air on the roof when everybody had gone to bed." "But you had your work—your scientific work in bacteriology! You can’t live without your work!" "Ah, yes. I had my work. But, oh! it was so lonely—so very lonely." "You’re not lonely here," said Boyne cheerfully. "So don’t bother. Take your ease, and make the best of it. You’re in a house which shelters people like yourself. Here everyone keeps a still tongue—and nobody knows about little Maggie." The curious man with the triangular face blinked across at Boyne—and remained silent for several moments. "Little Maggie!" he gasped at last. "Little Maggie! Ah! I remember. I——" Again he paused. Then glaring into Boyne’s face with a strange wild expression, he said: "You! Why—why you’re—you’re really Willie Wisden!"