"I suppose I ought to know the name of the square," he said grimly.
"Seeing that I nearly lost my life in a house there the night before
last. But please go on. I see you have something to tell me that is well
worth hearing."

"That's right," Venner said. "Most of it is in this paper. It appears
that the aforesaid Mr. Bates is a gentleman of retiring disposition, and
somewhat eccentric habits. As far as one can gather, he has no friends,
but lives quietly in Portsmouth Square, his wants being ministered to by
a body of servants who have been in his employ for years. Of necessity,
Mr. Bates is a man of wealth, or he could not possibly live in a house
the rent of which cannot be less than five or six hundred a year. As a
rule, Mr. Bates rarely leaves his house, but last night he seems to have
gone out unattended, and since then, he has not been seen."

"Stop a moment," Gurdon exclaimed eagerly. "I am beginning to see
daylight at last. What was the number of the house where this Bates
lived? I mean the number of the square."

Venner turned to his paper, and ran his eye down the printed column. Then
he smiled as he spoke.

"The number of the house," he said, "is 75."

"I knew it," Gurdon said excitedly. "I felt pretty certain of it. The man
who has disappeared lived at No. 75, and the place where we had our
adventure, or rather, I had my adventure, is No. 74. Now, tell me, who
was it who informed the police of the disappearance of Mr. Bates? Some
servant, I suppose?"