According to appointment Jevons met me when I had finished my next morning's work at Guy's, and we took a glass of sherry together in a neighbouring bar. Then at his invitation I accompanied him along the Borough High Street and Newington Causeway to the London Road, until we came to a row of costermongers' barrows drawn up beside the pavement. Before one of these, piled with vegetables ready for the Saturday-night market, he stopped, and was immediately recognised by the owner--a tall, consumptive-looking man, whose face struck me somehow as being familiar. "Well, Lane?" my companion said. "Busy, eh?" "Not very, sir," was the answer, with the true cockney twang. "Trade ain't very brisk. There's too bloomin' many of us 'ere nowadays." Leaving my side my companion advanced towards the man and whispered some confidential words that I could not catch, at the same time pulling something from his breast-pocket and showing it to him. "Oh, yes, sir. No doubt abawt it!" I heard the man exclaim. Then, in reply to a further question from Jevons, he said: "'Arry 'Arding used to work at Curtis's. So I fancy that 'ud be the place to find out somethink. I'm keepin' my ears open, you bet," and he winked knowingly. Where I had seen the man before I could not remember. But his face was certainly familiar. When we left him and continued along the busy thoroughfare of cheap shops and itinerant vendors I asked my friend who he was, to which he merely replied: "Well, he's a man who knows something of the affair. I'll explain later. In the meantime come with me to Gray's Inn Road. I have to make a call there," and he hailed a hansom, into which we mounted. Twenty minutes later we alighted before a dingy-looking barber's shop and inquired for Mr. Harding--an assistant who was at that moment shaving a customer of the working class. It was a house where one could be shaved for a penny, but where the toilet accessories were somewhat primitive. While I stood on the threshold Ambler Jevons asked the barber's assistant if he had ever worked at Curtis's, and if, while there, he knew a man whose photograph he showed him. "Yes, sir," answered the barber, without a moment's hesitation. "That's Mr. Slade. He was a very good customer, and Mr. Curtis used always to attend on him himself." "Slade, you say, is his name?" repeated my friend. "Yes, sir." Then, thanking him, we re-entered the cab and drove to an address in a street off Shaftesbury Avenue.