A well-meaning stage-door keeper for once had told the plain truth and there had been a man upon the pavement when Alban quitted the Regent Theatre.

Little more than six months ago, this identical fellow had been commissioned by Richard Gessner to seek Alban out and report upon his habits.He had visited the great ship-building yard, had made a hundred inquiries in Thrawl Street and the Commercial Road, had tracked his quarry to the Caves and carried his news thereafter triumphantly to Hampstead and his employer.  To-night his purpose was otherwise.He sought not gossip but a man, and that man now appeared before him upon the pavement, his hands thrust deep into his pockets, his head bent, his attitude that of utter dejection and despair.

“Mr. Kennedy, if you please.”

The stranger spoke beneath the shadow of a great lamp in the Charing Cross Road.  Not hearing him immediately, Alban had arrived at the next lamp before the earnest entreaty arrested him and found him erect and watchful in a moment.

“I beg your pardon, sir; you are Mr. Kennedy, are you not?”

“My name, at least the half of it.”

“Mr. Alban Kennedy, shall we say.  I have been looking for you for three days, sir.  It is not often that I search three days for anybody when his house is known.  Forgive me, it is not my fault that there has been a delay.”

Alban knew no more than the man in the moon what he was driving at, and he thought it must be all a mistake.

“What’s it all about, old chap?” he exclaimed, falling into the manners of the street.  “Why have you been hurrying yourself on my account?”

“To give you this letter, sir, and to ask you to accompany me.”

Alban whistled, but took the note nevertheless and tore it open with trembling fingers.He thought that he recognized the handwriting, but was not sure.  When he had read the letter through, he turned to the man and said that he would go with him.

“Then I will call a hansom, sir.”

The detective blew a shrill whistle, and a hansom immediately tried to cannon an omnibus, and succeeding came skidding to the pavement.The two men entered without a word to each other; but to the driver the direction was Hampstead Heath.He, wise merchant, demurred with chosen phrase of weight, until a fare was named and then lashed his horse triumphantly.

“My lucky’s in,” he cried to a friend upon another box, “it’s a quid if I ain’t bilked.”

Alban meanwhile took a cigarette from a paper packet, and asked his companion for a light.When he struck it an observer would have noticed that his hand was still shaking.

“Did you go down yonder?” he asked, indicating generally the neighborhood east of Aldgate.

“Searched every coffee shop in Whitechapel, sir.”

“Ah, you weren’t lucky.I have been living three days on Hampstead Heath.”

“On Hampstead Heath?  My godfather, I wish I’d known.”

They were driving through Regent’s Park by this time, and the darkness of a tempestuous night enshrouded them.  Alban recalled that unforgotten evening of spring when, with the amiable Silas Geary for his companion, he had first driven to Mr. Gessner’s house and had heard the story of Wonderland, as that very ordinary cleric had described it.  What days he had lived through since then!  And now this news surpassing all the miracles!  What must it mean to him, and to her!  Had they been fooling him again or might he dare to accept it for the truth?He knew not what to think.  A surpassing excitement seized upon him and held him dumb.  He felt that he would give years of his life to know.

They toiled up the long hill to the Heath and entered the grounds of “Five Gables” just as the church clock was striking eleven.There were lights in the Italian Garden and in the drawing-room.  Just as it had been six months ago, so now the obliging Fellows opened the door to them.  Alban gave him a kindly nod and asked him where Lois was.

“The young lady is there, in the hall, sir.  Pardon me saying it, she seems much upset to-night.”

“Mr. Gessner is still away?”

“On his yacht, sir.  We think he is going to visit South America.”

Alban waited for no more, but went straight on, his eyes half blinded by the glaring lights, his hands outstretched as though feeling for other hands to grasp them.

“Lois, I am here as you wished.”

A deep sob answered him, a hot face was pressed close to his own.

“Alban,” she said, “my father is dead!”