I was wary now, and full of suspicion.

Instinctively I did not like this mysterious foreigner. The way in

which he had first caught sight of my face as I descended the steps of

White's, and how he had glided after me down St. James's Street, was

not calculated to inspire confidence.

He asked permission to walk at my side along the Mall, which I rather

reluctantly granted. It seemed that, now I had addressed him, I could

not shake him off. Without doubt his intention was to watch, and see

where I lived. Therefore, instead of going in the direction of

Buckingham Palace, I turned back eastward towards the steps at the

foot of the Duke of York's Column.

As we strolled in the darkness along the front of Carlton House

Terrace he chatted affably with me, then said suddenly--

"Do you know, Monsieur Biddulph, we met once before--in rather strange

circumstances. You did not, however, see me. It was in Paris, some

little time ago. You were staying at the Grand Hotel, and became

acquainted with a certain American named Harriman."

"Harriman!" I echoed, with a start, for that man's name brought back

to me an episode I would fain forget. The fact is, I had trusted him,

and I had believed him to be an honest man engaged in big financial

transactions, until I discovered the truth. My friendship with him

cost me nearly one thousand eight hundred pounds.

"Harriman was very smart, was he not?" laughed my friend, with a touch

of sarcasm.

Could it be, I wondered, that this Frenchman was a friend of the

shrewd and unscrupulous New Yorker?

"Yes," I replied rather faintly.

"Sharp--until found out," went on the stranger, speaking in French.

"His real name is Bell, and he----"

"Yes, I know; he was arrested for fraud in my presence as he came down

the staircase in the hotel," I interrupted.

"He was arrested upon a much more serious charge," exclaimed the

stranger. "He was certainly wanted in Berlin and Hanover for frauds in

connection with an invention, but the most serious charge against him

was one of murder."

"Murder!" I gasped. "I never knew that!"

"Yes--the murder of a young English statesman named Ronald Burke at a

villa near Nice. Surely you read reports of the trial?"

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