It was very late when I reached the shabby little street in the neighbourhood of the river; I must have found it by a sort of instinct, for I did not even know its name. I came to the house, and rang the bell; the child my guardian had called Moggs opened the door. She grinned when she saw me, and jerked her head towards the staircase. "Lucky you've come," she said, in a sort of hoarse whisper. "'E's bin carryin' on like mad, blamin' me for it, of all fings. I made sure you'd cut yer lucky." I guessed dimly that my guardian had wondered at my absence; I went quickly up the stairs. I opened the door, and went eagerly into the room, with my tale at my very lips; but I stopped short when I saw that another man was seated at the table from which Fanshawe had risen. "So you've come back, have you?" sneered my guardian, looking me over with no very favourable eye. "And by the look of you, I should think you've been out of doors a little." I became suddenly aware how deplorably muddy and dirty I was. Like a scolded child, I pulled off my hat, and stood there with bowed head, unable to say a word. I raised my head when I heard the other man speak to Fanshawe. "Is this the fellow?" It was a curiously hard voice, a cold metallic voice. I looked at the speaker, and saw a man a little over thirty years of age, with a strong, rather heavy face; I noticed that his dark hair grew low on his forehead, and rather forward at the temples. He was very well-dressed--so well-dressed, in fact, that his being in that place at all on friendly terms with the shabby Jervis Fanshawe seemed incongruous in itself. "Yes, this is the fellow," said Fanshawe, taking me by the sleeve and drawing me forward. "You can speak to him yourself." The man lounging at the table looked up at me contemptuously enough--studied me as he might have studied a dog he meant to buy if he approved of it. "You've been in prison?" he said at last. I bowed my head, and dropped my eyes. "A long time," I replied. "And now are thrown on the world, with a living to get if possible, and with no trade at your fingers' ends--eh? Well, I may be able to help you. We are friends here, and so I can speak freely. You killed a man?" "A long time ago," I said, without raising my eyes. "There's nothing to be ashamed of," he retorted, with a disagreeable laugh--"in fact, you're a man to know. I've been talking to Fanshawe here about you, and I think you may serve my purpose." "In a word, Charlie," broke in Fanshawe excitedly, "there's a chance for you to get back a little payment for what you have suffered--to pay off old scores--to get a little cheap revenge. Don't stare at me like that; pull your wits together, and listen." "To pay off old scores? Revenge?" I stared at him, wondering if he knew what I had seen in that old place of my dreams--wondering what he would say next.