whom I speak."

Through the open sitting-room window I saw a huge, swarthy man
with a bristling black beard walking slowly down the centre of
the street and staring eagerly at he numbers of the houses. It
was clear that, like myself, he was on the track of the maid.
Acting upon the impulse of the moment, I rushed out and accosted
him.

"You are an Englishman," I said.

"What if I am?" he asked with a most villainous scowl.

"May I ask what your name is?"

"No, you may not," said he with decision.

The situation was awkward, but the most direct way is often the
best.

"Where is the Lady Frances Carfax?" I asked.

He stared at me with amazement.

"What have you done with her? Why have you pursued her? I
insist upon an answer!" said I.

The fellow gave a below of anger and sprang upon me like a tiger.
I have held my own in many a struggle, but the man had a grip of
iron and the fury of a fiend. His hand was on my throat and my