"Berrington," he said suddenly.

"Yes? What?" I asked, taken aback at his change of tone.

He took a step forward and laid his hand upon my shoulder.

"Berrington," he repeated--and in his eyes there was a singular
expression--"I have an idea."

He turned to a page who was standing near.

"Boy," he said sharply, "what address did that gentleman who has just
gone tell you to give to his driver?"

"He told the driver himself, sir," the boy answered, "but I heard the
address he gave, sir."

"What was it?"

"Three forty, Maresfield Gardens, sir. It's near Swiss Cottage--up
Fitzjohn's Avenue on the right."

Osborne turned to me quickly.

"Come into this room," he said. "There is something I want to ask you.
The place is empty, and we shall not be disturbed."

When he had closed the door, and glanced about him to make sure that we
were alone, he said in a low voice: