Next morning Niebeldingk sat at his desk and reflected with
considerable discomfort on the experience of the previous evening.
Suddenly he observed, across the street, restlessly waiting in the
same doorway--the avenging spirit!

It was an opportune moment. It would distract him to make an example
of the fellow. Nothing better could have happened.

He rang for John and ordered him to bring up the wretched fellow and,
furthermore, to hold himself in readiness for an act of vigorous
expulsion.

Five minutes passed. Then the door opened and, diffidently, but with a
kind of professional dignity, the knight of several honourable orders
entered the room.

Niebeldingk made rapid observations: A beardless, weatherworn old face
with pointed, stiff, white brows. The little, watery eyes knew how to
hide their cunning, for nothing was visible in them save an expression
of wonder and consternation. The black frock coat was threadbare but
clean, his linen was spotless. He wore a stock which had been the
last word of fashion at the time of the July revolution.

"A sharper of the most sophisticated sort," Niebeldingk concluded.

"Before any discussion takes place," he said sharply. "I must know
with whom I am dealing."

The old man drew off with considerable difficulty his torn, gray,
funereal gloves and, from the depths of a greasy pocket-book, produced