“What about it?” asked the other, as carelessly as he could.

“W’y—at the Watermen—o’ course,” whispered the Shady ’un, in a surprised tone. “Ten thirty, sharp. I suppose you’ll come wiv the Count—eh?”

“I suppose so,” replied Crowdy. “Good-night!”

Left alone, he thrust his plate aside, and sat staring at the table, turning the business over in his mind. In the first place, he had resolved to find Dandy Chater’s murderer; on the other hand, if, as was possible, the man spoken of as the Count had anything to do with that murder, it would obviously be impossible for Philip Crowdy to appear before him; the fraud would be exposed at once. Again, it was evident that the late Dandy Chater had kept remarkably queer company; and that, moreover, Philip Crowdy—as the new Dandy Chater—was pledged to meet some members of that queer company, on the following Tuesday, at half-past ten, at the house known as The Three Watermen.

“So far—so good—or rather, bad,” he said slowly to himself. “I’m Dandy Chater—for the present, at least; if the man who struck the blow happens to meet me, he’ll either die of fright, or denounce me. For the present, I’ve got to be very careful; I’ve very fortunately discovered one or two things which may be useful. But how in the world am I to know what Dandy Chater was doing, or meant to do—or what people he knew, or didn’t know? At all events, I must put a bold face on the matter, and trust to luck.”

It was not until he was undressing for the night, in the shabby little room which had been assigned to him over the coffee-house, that he remembered the interview he had had with the girl, on the road outside Bamberton. He stopped, and stood stock still, with a puzzled face.

“The girl—Patience Miller! I’d clean forgotten about her. Why, Dandy Chater was to have taken her to London, and they were to be married to-morrow. Now, Dandy Chater—or the real one, at least—is at the bottom of the river. But where on earth is the girl?”

He puzzled over it for some time, and finally, finding sleep stealing over him, gave it up, with all the other troublous matters connected with the past few hours, and slept the sleep which comes only to a man who is utterly worn out with fatigue and excitement.

He slept late the next morning, and had time, while he dressed, to consider what his future course of action should be. In part, he had made up his mind the previous night; had studied 

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