Evening star., 1909-07-18

| alas, grimy with the smoke of the fast
encroaching metropolis.
| Suddenly, as / walked, it occurred to
| me that Cough would not have given his
right name at the hotel; therefore l could
| not inquire for him. This thought caused
| me to hesitate. / had no baggage with
| me, otherwise / might take a room for
/ the night and meet him casually in the
| smoking room.
| Almost at that moment. however,
heard a light footstep on the gravel be-
hind me. and voice exclaimed.
| Phil"
Turning quickly. I found Granny him
self
MY dear fellow" he exclaimed,
| stretching out his hand in the darkness.
| I've been waiting about for you ever
! since $50. Tell me, what did you mean
by your wire this morning? What has
happened? Let us walk this way-it' $
| queter."
| And he turned on his heef, causing me
| to retrace my steps.
| Il hardly know what's happened Gran
| ny-except that there seems to be-well,
| there's a warrant out for your arrest"
| "A warrant he gasped in a strange
! voice. Why-how do you know that?"
I've been told" was my answer. Il
didn't send you that warning this morn
| ing
But it was signed by YOU. You told
| me to leave at once, come down here and
! wait till you Joined me tonight
| Il know. But it was stranger-a
stranger who says he is your friend-who
] sent it,
whats his name?'
| He gave a false one-the name of
| Grinheld. But he afterward admitted he
had lied to me-
| What he like? Describe him. Tell
| me all. Phil urged the big burly man
in dark tweeds and soft gray hat as he
/, strobe at my side along the facade of the
| Crystal Palace toward Sydenham.
| MY experience today. my dear fellow
| has been a most unusual one" | said
The police are in active search of you"
| Yes, he Sroaned. II expected as
much Phil" he said. But you are my
/ friend. aren't you?" he went on, iioarsely
II know you are or you wouldn't be
| down here
| II am your friend. Granny. and I'll re-
main So" / said But think that you
| should be open and frank with me. Tell
me-. why are the police looking for you?"
| Mono. by heaven Phil" he cried.
| II can't tell you that. Don't ask me.
All. old chap. you don't know the torture
| I'm sufferfng-you don't know"
| And he broke off suddenly. 1 saw by
| the uncertain light of the street lamp
! that his cleanshaven face bore haunt
ed look. His eyes We're set and staring.
as though he foresaw ruin and disgrace
! before him.
"Ah! no." he went or. in the same
| hoarse tone. For myself what do
| care even though the police find me-
/ But care for little Gertie-and for Myra,
| my beloved. She must never know this
| Phil. Promise me to keep it from her-if
| the worst happens'
| THE worst? What do YOU meano"
| Bah, you know. I'm not afraid to die
| I'm no coward
| Il know that. Granny" | said as quiet
| ~ as could. | knew to what he referred.
| He intended to die by his own hand rath-
| er than suffer the indignity OF arrest
| That guilt was upon him was. only too
| apparent. And yet the dead woman was
| certainly not Lydia Popescu.
/ Again | urged him to make a clean
| breast of the whole affair. saying: You
can surely trust me. old fellow! am your
| friend"
Il know. Phil, my future is in your
| hands entirely. You could deliver me
over TO this constable coming along If
fyou so wished. / admit that but vet
must lefuse to tell yor anything" he
| said. Take pity upon me and refrain
from asking any questions. 1 am suffer
Ing enough"
| / saw the appealing look in my friends
/ eyes as we left the Parade and crossed
/ the road into that silent and eminently
| respectable thoroughfare. Sydenham Hill,
| where all the houses are large and ali
standing In their own grounds.
"You have promised to remain my