"Right you are—at Mother Mandarin's to-night. What time?"
"Oh, somewhere about eight, pal," and with a whistle, indicative of approaching danger, Mr. Shorty made his way towards the Embankment.
Jabez was both astounded and relieved. At last he began to see Mr. Farren's game. It was running the war into the enemy's camp with a vengeance. But he'd be one too many for him this time. Still, even so, he felt far from secure. He had not seen Farren all the morning, and there was always the possibility he might already have betrayed him. He had more than half a mind to leave Euston by the late night mail. He could do so and still be at Mother Mandarin's at eight.
Meanwhile Shorty made his way along the Embankment at a rate for him prodigious, and in less than half an hour from the time of his parting with Jabez had reached his destination—Great Scotland Yard.
Jabez, having completed sundry minor purchases for his voyage, rewarded himself by dropping into a public-house and drinking (to himself again) bon voyage. That done, he called for his pipe and another bowl, accompanied on this occasion by pens, ink, and paper. He was feeling very nervous about Farren, and had made up his mind that any betrayal by that mysterious gentleman should not go unpunished, even though he, the betrayed, were not there to punish him. With such retribution in view, he ran off a letter to Miriam, the contents of which would be all sufficient to secure unto Mr. Farren the chastisement he would so richly deserve. For the whiling away of the remainder of the afternoon he had to fall back on such attraction as his host was able to offer in the shape of Scotch Whisky.
That such was sufficiently powerful seems proven by the fact that the clock was striking seven, and Jabez was with difficulty restrained from striking the clock, when he picked up his parcels and made for "home." His progress was of necessity somewhat leisurely, and by the time he arrived there most of his "indecision" had passed off. Mother Mandarin was out; and the room was empty save for one man in a long cloak, who sat before the fire warming his hands.
"You?" cried Jabez, as he recognised his friend Garson, alias Farren, and as he very much feared, alias Judas. "You here?"
"And why should I not be?" replied the man coolly. "Is it not my custom to smoke a pipe on occasions?"
"I mean, are you alone?"
"I am always alone," replied Farren in the most melancholy voice.