"Then why come here? I am going to see Mr. Gramp on Miss Marlow's behalf. If you like, I will represent you also." "No, thank you; I must see him myself." "Very well. I suppose you are not staying in town?" "Yes, at the Norfolk Hotel. I shall remain until to-morrow, so as to sell my jewels and bribe this man." "There will be no need to sell your jewels," said Alan soothingly. "I will be responsible for the blackmail. Have you the jewels with you?" "No, I dared not bring them. He might have robbed me. They are in my bedroom at the hotel." "Then go back at once and look after them. I will bring this man there in, let us say, an hour." "Thank you, Mr. Thorold," she said. "I accept your offer. I am really afraid to go down that slum." He gazed after her fine figure as she walked hurriedly away. Somehow that haughty air and resolute gait did not fit in well with her expression of fear. It was curious. He felt there was something strange about Mrs. Warrender. However, she had been open enough with him, so he did not choose to think badly of her. The man he sought was not easy to find. Mr. Cramp had his own reasons for keeping clear of the police. The whole alley was known by the name of Dixon's Rents, and Thorold had no idea in which of the houses to ask for him. He questioned a stunted street Arab with wolfish eyes, emphasizing his request with a sixpence. "Oh, Cicero!" yelped the lad, biting the coin. "Yuss, he's round about. Dunno! Y'ain't a 'tec?" "What's that?" "A de-tec-tive," drawled the boy. "Cicero ain't wanted, is he?" "Not by me. Is Cicero generally--er--wanted?" inquired Alan delicately. The urchin closed one eye rapidly, and grinned with many teeth. But, instead of replying he took to shouting hoarsely for "Mother Ginger." The surrounding population popped out of their burrows like so many rabbits, and for the next few minutes "Mother Ginger" was asked for vigorously. Alan looked round at the ragged, blear-eyed slum-dwellers, but could see nothing of the lady in question. Suddenly his arm was twitched, and he turned to find a dwarf no higher than his waist trying to attract his attention. Mother Ginger, for it was she, had a huge head of red hair, fantastically decked with ribbons of many colors. Her dress, too, was rainbow-hued, like Joseph's coat. She had carpet slippers on her huge feet, and white woolen gloves on her large hands. Her face was as large as a frying-pan and of a pallid hue, with expressionless blue eyes and a big mouth. Alan saw in her a female Quasimodo. "Wot is it?" she inquired. Evidently Mother Ginger was vain of her finery and of the attention she attracted. "Is it Mr. Gramp you want, m'dimber-cove?" "Yes. Can you take me to him?" asked Thorold, wincing at the penny-whistle quality of her voice. "Is he at home?" "P'r'aps he is, p'r'aps he ain't," retorted Mother Ginger, with a fascinating leer. "Wot d'ye want with him?"