time on his hands. His name was painted in dirty white letters on the
black door of his dingy chambers on a fourth story. On this door he
called himself, "_Andrew Larkspur, Commission Agent_."

It will be seen by-and-by how Honoria Eversleigh had become acquainted
with the fact of this man's existence.

She went alone to seek an interview with him. She had found herself
compelled to confide in Jane Payland to a very considerable extent; but
she did not tell that attendant more than she was obliged to tell of
the dark business which had brought her to London.

She was fortunate enough to find Mr. Andrew Larkspur alone, and
disengaged. He was a little, sandy-haired man, of some sixty years of
age, spare and wizened, with a sharp nose, like a beak, and thin, long
arms, ending in large, claw-like hands, that were like the talons of a
bird of prey. Altogether, Mr. Lark spur had very much of the aspect of
an elderly vulture which had undergone partial transformation into a
human being.

Honoria was in no way repelled by the aspect of this man. She saw that
he was clever; and fancied him the kind of person who would be likely
to serve her faithfully.

"I have been informed that you are skilled in the prosecution of secret
investigations," she said; "and I wish to secure your services
immediately. Are you at liberty to devote yourself to the task I wish
to be performed by you?"

Mr. Larkspur was a man who rarely answered even the simplest question