"I will do what I can," he said, "but I really am at a loss how to take even the first step." "Thank you for saying so much, sir. We are all at a loss, but I don't intend to rest till I discover the scoundrel. You'll not object to giving me your name and address." "What for?" demanded Mark Inglefield, wishing that the earth would open and swallow his tormentor. "Give it to him," said Mr. Manners, quietly. Thus forced to comply, Mark Inglefield, with a show of alacrity, handed Mr. Parkinson his card. "I am obliged to you, sir," said Mr. Parkinson. A possible road of escape presented itself to Mark Inglefield. "Who saw this portrait?" he asked. "No one in this neighborhood," replied Mr. Parkinson, "that I know of, except me and my daughter." "It may not be my portrait, after all," suggested Mark Inglefield. "There isn't a shadow of doubt, sir," said Mr. Parkinson, "that it _is_ a picture of you. I'm ready to swear to it." It was at this precise moment that there occurred to Mark Inglefield a contingency which filled him with apprehension. From what Mr. Manners had told him, Kingsley's wife had befriended Mary Parkinson, and was doubtless in the confidence of the poor girl. Suppose Mary had shown his portrait to Nansie, would she have recognized it? It was long since he and Nansie had met, and time had altered his appearance somewhat, but not sufficiently to disguise his identity. He did not betray his uneasiness, but a new feature was now introduced that caused him to turn hot and cold. This was the unwelcome and unexpected appearance of Blooming Bess upon the scene. CHAPTER XLIII. The wretched girl did not come alone. A woman dragged her forward. "Here you are, Mr. Parkinson," said the woman. "Blooming Bess can tell you something about Mary's disappearance last night." "I am ruined," thought Mark Inglefield, and hoped that Blooming Bess would not recognize him. There were chances in his favor. It was night when they met, and he had taken the precaution to change his clothes and wrap himself in an ulster. To these chances he was compelled to trust; and perhaps he could keep himself out of the girl's sight. "What do you know about it?" asked Mr. Parkinson, in great excitement. "Oh, I don't mind telling," said the girl. "Here, you! Just let go of me, will you?" She released herself from the woman's grasp. "Do you want the lot," she asked of Mr. Parkinson, "from beginning to end?" "I must know everything," he replied, "everything." "You must, must you? Well, that's for me to say, not you. I could tell you a lot of lies if I wanted to." He made a threatening motion towards her, but was held back by his mates. "You'll only make things worse," they said.