well, I may know more after we have. lunched together."

"Come and dine with me afterwards," said the Troglodyte. "I shall be glad of your There's some good claret in Bond

news.

Street."

"With pleasure."

Sherwood, junior, when he had attended to a little business, put himself into a hansom, and found his way to Scotland Yard. There he meet Inspector Ubique.

Ubique," he said, "I want to find out who somebody is. I am going to give him some luncheon between one and two tomorrow at the Pall Mall. You could manage to pass through the room and take a look at him, couldn't you ?"

'Easily.

I'll see it's done, sir."

"Thanks. I'll come down for your report in the course of the afternoon."

CHAPTER XVIII.

AN INSPECTION.

"Homo trium literarum."

THE attorney-at-law cannot always pick his company; and Sherwood, junior, having gentlemanly proclivities, felt that, by inviting the quasi Sir Harold to lunch with him, he was doing more than ordinary legal service. But he did not believe in this man, and he did not want to see the great estate of Tachbrook fall into wrong hands. Hence he threw himself into the matter with energy unusual. He treated his guest with as much courtesy as he could command; but it was not without a shudder he sat at the same table with him, disgusted by his dirt and diamonds, and ob

VOL. I.

serving that the attentive waiters looked also disgusted. Luckily there were few persons in the room at this hour; and so it was chiefly the waiters' criticism that discomposed Mr Sherwood. He, however, consoled himself with a good glass of wine, which he administered freely to his companion, desiring to develop his loquacity. This had its effect. At first very shy, Sir Harold warmed into garrulity, and was soon telling Sherwood, junior, most amazing adventures which had happened to him in all parts of the world. The lawyer listened with avidity.

So did somebody else. They had only just finished an anchovy salad, and were enjoying the accompanying Montrachet, when a middle-aged clergyman took a seat at the nearest table. He had a companion, a retiring young lady, dressed with elegant simplicity, who looked like his daughter. The divine ordered a quiet refection, which he took leisurely, and without much interruption of talk. He was so seated that Sherwood, junior, could scarcely perceive him, while Sherwood's guest was almost face to face with him. But the said guest saw no

thing, save "an old fogy of a parson," as probably he would have described him; certainly recognised not the keenest detective eyes that ever London saw.

1

And who was the parson's daughter? Well, Mr Inspector Ubique has an orphan. niece, whom he, a bachelor, adopted years ago, and who has entered into the romance and mystery of his profession, and kept his diary of discovery. The worthy and astute inspector is not so keen of hearing as he was once; his niece's rather nice looking little ears often do shrewd service when there is anything difficult to find out. Moreover, there are delicate enigmas wherein lady adventurers are concerned-feminine creatures who dress fashionably and aim at a distinguished style. Such game has to be tracked in exclusive coverts-in places where it seems as surprising to mark it down as to find a cormorant close to the tree of knowledge. Miss Lucy Ubique, though an uncovenanted and unrecognised servant of the Government, had once or twice done signal service. She wore this day a very handsome gold watch, given her by a Countess, whom she had saved from

being the victim of a clever conspiracy. Her uncle is a man of remarkable capacity, yet he owes much of his good fortune and high repute to the acumen of his niece.

The apparent parson and his supposititious daughter ate their quiet cutlets with a pint of claret between them, while the assumed baronet and his legal entertainer went through a series of courses, and mixed their wines recklessly. Sir Harold talked recklessly. He described extravagant adventures in countries seldom traversed. He had shot lions, caught condors in figure-of-four traps, climbed Andes, been buried in earthquakes. That the fellow was romancing was clear to his auditors; but every now and then an accidental truth crept into his farrago of lies. Those scraps of truth betrayed him. It is an adage that liars should have long memories; it may further be said that a liar, to succeed in his vocation, should never tell truth.

The country parson's luncheon was over first; indeed, Sherwood, junior, had much difficulty in bringing his entertainment to any termination. The quasi-baronet did not tire of eating, drinking, and talking, and it was