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"It is very sad to see you stretched so low," he said; "and please don't scowl, Miss Howett. I have come here oozing sympathy."

Mr. Howett went back to his sitting-room to write out a cablegram. And then:

"Where were you last night, young lady?"

"In bed," she replied promptly.

"And the night before?"

"Also in bed."

"Will you think I am indelicate," he demanded, "if I ask you whether in your dreams you paid a visit to the salubrious neighbourhood of Limehouse, looking for a man who is known as Coldharbour Smith?"

She uttered an exclamation of impatience.

"Wait!" He lifted a solemn hand warningly. "In searching for Mr. Coldharbour Smith, did you tumble into a free-for-all fight in a restaurant mainly frequented by Chinks and negroes?"

She shuddered at the remembrance.

"From which you were rescued by an honest but homely sailor—not, however, before you were badly kicked by one of the brutes."

"You weren't the honest but homely sailor?" she said, aghast.

He shook his head.

"No; he was one of my men—Sergeant Higgins. A very good fellow, though there is nothing of the male vamp about him. Why do you do these things?"