"Slade! Slade!" repeated Ambler Jevons to himself as we drove along. "That's the name I've been in search of for weeks. If I am successful I believe the Seven Secrets will resolve themselves into one of the most remarkable conspiracies of modern times. I must, however, make this call alone, Ralph. The presence of a second person may possibly prevent the man I'm going to see from making a full and straightforward statement. We must not risk failure in this inquiry, for I anticipate that it may give us the key to the whole situation. There's a bar opposite the Palace Theatre. I'll set you down there, and you can wait for me. You don't mind, do you?" "Not at all, if you'll promise to explain the result of your investigations afterwards." "You shall know everything later," he assured me, and a few minutes afterwards I alighted at the saloon bar he had indicated, a long lounge patronised a good deal by theatrical people. He was absent nearly half-an-hour, and when he returned I saw from his face that he had obtained some information that was eminently satisfactory. "I hope to learn something further this afternoon," he said before we parted. "If I do I shall be with you at four." Then he jumped into a hansom and disappeared. Jevons was a strange fellow. He rushed hither and thither, telling no one his business or his motives. About the hour he had named he was ushered into my room. He had made a complete change in his appearance, wearing a tall hat and frock coat, with a black fancy waistcoat whereon white flowers were embroidered. By a few artistic touches he had altered the expression of his features too--adding nearly twenty years to his age. His countenance was one of those round, flexible ones that are so easily altered by a few dark lines. "Well, Ambler?" I said anxiously, when we were alone. "What have you discovered?" "Several rather remarkable facts," was his philosophic response. "If you care to accompany me I can show you to-night something very interesting." "Care to accompany you?" I echoed. "I'm only too anxious." He glanced at his watch, then flinging himself into the chair opposite me, said, "We've an hour yet. Have you got a drop of brandy handy?" Then for the first time I noticed that the fresh colour of his cheeks was artificial, and that in reality he was exhausted and white as death. The difficulty in speaking that I had attributed to excitement was really due to exhaustion. Quickly I produced the brandy, and gave him a stiff peg, which he swallowed at a single gulp. His eyes were no longer sleepy-looking, but there was a quick fire in them which showed me that, although suppressed, there burned within his heart a fierce desire to get at the truth. Evidently he had learned something since I left him, but what it was I could not gather. I looked at the clock, and saw it was twenty minutes past six. He noticed my action, and said: "If we start in an hour we shall have sufficient time."