detective of fiction. The finest among his many fine qualities was
his boyish appetite for the colour and poetry of London. Basil, who
walked behind, with his face turned blindly to the stars, had the
look of a somnambulist.

Rupert paused at the corner of Tanner's Court, with a quiver of
delight at danger, and gripped Basil's revolver in his great-coat
pocket.

"Shall we go in now?" he asked.

"Not get police?" asked Major Brown, glancing sharply up and down
the street.

"I am not sure," answered Rupert, knitting his brows. "Of course,
it's quite clear, the thing's all crooked. But there are three of
us, and--"

"I shouldn't get the police," said Basil in a queer voice. Rupert
glanced at him and stared hard.

"Basil," he cried, "you're trembling. What's the matter--are you
afraid?"

"Cold, perhaps," said the Major, eyeing him. There was no doubt
that he was shaking.

At last, after a few moments' scrutiny, Rupert broke into a curse.

"You're laughing," he cried. "I know that confounded, silent,