Sheard realised, at times--and these were uncomfortable times--that his strange acquaintance with Severac Bablon quite conceivably might end in Brixton Prison. Yet there are some respects wherein the copy-hunter and the scalp-hunter tally. The thrill of the New Journalism has enlisted in the ranks of the Fleet Street army some who, in a former age, must have sought their fortune with the less mighty weapon. A love of adventure was some part of the complement of Sheard; and now, suspecting that a Pinkerton man lurked in the neighbourhood, and uncertain if his wife slept, he awaited his visitor, with nerves tensely strung. But there was an exquisite delight tingling through his veins--an appreciation of his peril wholly pleasurable. Faintly, he heard a key grate in the lock of the front door. The door was opened, and gently closed. Sheard stood up. Into the study walked Severac Bablon. He was perfectly attired, as usual; wore evening-dress, and a heavy fur-lined coat. His silk hat he held in his hand. As he stood within the doorway, where the rays from the shaded lamp failed to touch his features, he seemed, in the semi-light, a man more than humanly handsome. "The house is watched," began Sheard--and broke off. A shadow had showed, momentarily, upon the cream of the drawn casement-curtains. Someone was crouching on the lawn, under the study window. "Did you see that?" jerked the pressman. "Somebody looked in! The curtain isn't quite drawn to at that corner." "My dear Sheard"--Severac Bablon's musical voice was untroubled by any trace of apprehension--"there is no occasion to worry! Mr. Aloys. X. Alden looked in!" "But----" "Had it been Inspector Sheffield there had been some cause for excitement. Inspector Sheffield, if I am rightly informed, holds a warrant for my arrest. Mr. Alden is an unofficial investigator." "But he can call a constable!" "Reflect, Sheard. If he calls a constable, what happens?" "You are arrested!" "Not so; but I will grant you that much for the sake of argument. To whom would the credit fall?" "Patently, Mr. Alden." "Wrong! You know that it is wrong! The official service would reap every gain! Believe me, Sheard, Mr. Alden will not reveal my presence here to a living soul! He may try to trap me when I leave, but there will be no clamouring on the door by members of the Metropolitan Police force, as you seemingly apprehend!" Severac Bablon threw himself into the big arm-chair, and lighted a cigarette--a yellow cigarette. "The trick you played upon Alden yesterday was such as no man with a sense of humour could well have resisted," he said. "But it was indiscreet." "I know." "Suspicion pointed to you as the perpetrator of the card trick at Rohscheimer's. You must not run unnecessary risks." "It was a thrilling moment for me, when I leant over to Miss Hohsmann, my right hand extended for the salt or something of the kind, and my left stretched behind her chair!"