ed “I’ll tell you,” said Sydney. “I lighted on you, Mr. Barsad,

coming out of the prison of the Conciergerie while I was

contemplating the walls, an hour or more ago. You have a face to

be remembered, and I remember faces well. Made curious by

seeing you in that connection, and having a reason, to which you

are no stranger, for associating you with the misfortunes of a

friend now very unfortunate, I walked in your direction. I walked

into the wine-shop here, close after you, and sat near you. I had no

difficulty in deducing from your unreserved conversation, and the

rumour openly going about among your admirers, the nature of

your calling. And gradually, what I had done at random, seemed to

shape itself into a purpose, Mr. Barsad.”

“What purpose?” the spy asked.

“It would be troublesome, and might be dangerous, to explain

in the street. Could you favour me, in confidence, with some

minutes of your companyat the office of Tellson’s Bank, for

instance?”

“Under a threat?”

“Oh! Did I say that?”

“Then, why should I go there?”

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“Really, Mr. Barsad, I can’t say, if you can’t.”

“Do you mean that you won’t say, sir?” the spy irresolutely

asked.