windows and the roofs of St. Anne's Mansions. Farther, on the left, the
clock tower of Westminster glinted in the sun-rays.

'Fine ducks!' said M. Zola.

'A pretty corner,' added Desmoulin, waving his hand towards some branches
that drooped to the water's edge. And suddenly I remembered and told them
of another French exile, the epicurean St. Evremond, whose needs were
relieved by Charles II. appointing him governor of yonder Duck Island at
a salary of three hundred pounds a year.

'Well, I have little money in my pocket,' quoth Zola, 'but I don't think
I shall come to that. I hope that my pen alone will always yield me the
little I require.'

But Big Ben struck the hour. It was six o'clock. So we separated, Messrs.
Zola and Desmoulin to retire to the dungeon at the Grosvenor, and I to go
in search of my friend the solicitor at his private house at Wimbledon.



III

DANGER SIGNALS

That evening, I called upon my friend--Mr. F. W. Wareham, of Wimbledon,
and Ethelburge House, Bishopsgate Street--and laid before him the legal
points. I afterwards arranged to see him on the following morning in
town, when I hoped to fix a meeting between him and M. Zola. My first
call on Thursday, July 21, was made to the Grosvenor Hotel, where I found