address he gave was Hugh Carnaby's, in Hamilton Terrace.

Twice already the horse had slipped at slimy crossings, when, near the
top of Regent Street, it fell full length, and the abrupt stoppage
caused a collision of wheels with another hansom which was just passing
at full speed in the same direction. Rolfe managed to alight in the
ordinary way, and at once heard himself greeted by a familiar voice from
the other cab. His acquaintance showed a pallid, drawn, all but
cadaverous visage, with eyes which concealed pain or weariness under
their friendly smile. Abbott was the man's name. Formerly a lecturer at
a provincial college, he had resigned his post on marrying, and taken to
journalism.

'I want to speak to you, Rolfe,' he said hurriedly, 'but I haven't a
moment to spare. Going to Euston -- could you come along for a few
minutes?'

The vehicles were not damaged; Abbott's driver got quickly out of the
crowd, and the two men continued their conversation.

'Do you know anything of Wager?' inquired the journalist, with a
troubled look.

'He came to see me a few evenings ago -- late.'

'Ha, he did! To borrow money, wasn't it?'

'Well, yes.'

'I thought so. He came to me for the same. Said he'd got a berth at