"Can you describe the lad?"
"Not very well. I caught a glimpse of him under a lamp-post, but the fog was so thick that I obtained only a vague impression. He seemed to be a fair, innocent-looking boy with fair hair—the kind of pure angelic creature depicted by painters as a chorister."
"By Jove!" Conniston dashed down his pipe excitedly. "You describe Judas to the life. The plot thickens."
"The plot——"
"The plot which was to involve you in the crime, and, by Jove! those who contrived it must have hired Judas to be your guide."
"Are you sure that this is the lad—Mrs. Moon's grandson?"
"As sure as I can be from your word-painting. Jerry—Judas suits him much better—is just what you say: an innocent, butter-won't-melt-in-my-mouth sort of brat who looks like an angel and acts like a denizen of the infernal regions. And now I remember," went on Dick, "the little brute spoke to me after you left me when we talked in the Park. He was then bare-footed and selling matches."
"This boy must be the same," said Bernard, thoughtfully. "He also had bare feet and carried boxes of matches in his hand."
"It's Judas sure enough!" muttered Conniston, pulling his mustache and staring gloomily into the fire. "I wonder what he was doing in that galley? You followed him?"
"Yes, because he mentioned the Red Window. But for that I should have suspected something wrong. I don't care about following strange urchins. But only Lucy knew about the Red Window."