"Yes. I start at ten o'clock. And you?"
"I am going down to Ironfields."
"On a wild-goose chase."
"That remains to be proved," retorted Fanks, grimly.
"I'm certain of it, so your wisest plan is to accept the inevitable and give this case up," replied Axton, holding out his hand. "Good night."
"Good night, old boy," said Octavius, cordially. "I'm very pleased to meet you again. By the way, don't let us lose sight of one another. My address is Scotland Yard—my Fanks address, of course. And yours?"
"Temple Chambers, Fleet Street."
Out came Mr. Fanks' secretive little note-book, in which, he wrote down the address with a gay laugh.
"Ha! ha! Like all literary men, you start with the law and leave it for the profits."
"Of poetry. Pshaw!"