"To what, Mr. Ackworth?"
"To protecting Mr. Horran, and getting this blackguard arrested."
Jerce nodded approvingly. "I shall lend you all the assistance I can, Mr. Ackworth," said he, firmly. "Unless this man is caught, he will be a veritable scourge to society."
"The story--the story!" cried Clarice, with impatience.
"It is, indeed, a story; more like romance than real life," said Jerce, quickly. "You know, Miss Baird, that I have a consulting room in Tea Street, Whitechapel."
"Yes, Mr. Horran told me that also," said Anthony. "You physic poor people for nothing."
"I do. I earn so much money in the West End that I think it is only right to use my talents for the poor. We must do what good we can in this world, you know, Mr. Ackworth. I don't set up for being a philanthropist, but in my humble way I do what good I can. Well, then," he resumed, quickly, seeing that Clarice was growing impatient again, "I was there--in Tea Street--some two months ago, and attended on a young man, who was dying of consumption. He appeared to be clever, refined, and intelligent, and, for that miserably poor quarter, his room was furnished with great taste and somewhat expensively. He seemed to be absolutely alone, and I did what I could to save his life. All my skill was of no avail, and he died. As I had refused to receive a fee, he gave me a sealed envelope, and told me to carry it constantly upon my person."
"Why?" asked Clarice, wonderingly.
"I'll tell you later. The dying man also warned me that if I was attacked by a fellow with a criss-cross scar on his left cheek, to open the envelope. Then the man died and was buried. I did not attach much importance to the sealed letter, and--"
"Didn't you open it?" asked the girl, eagerly.