CHAPTER VII.
"A very real, a very moving thing, Mr.Narkom," he replied.

"The cry of a human heart in deep distress; the agonised appeal of a man so wrought up by the horrors of his position that he forgets to offer a temptation in the way of reward, and speaks of outlandish things as though they must be understood of all.

As witness his allusion to something which he calls 'The Red Crawl,' without attempting to explain the meaningless phrase.

Whatever it is, it is so real to him that it seems as if everybody must understand." "You think, then, that the thing is genuine ?" "So genuine that I shall answer its call, Mr.Narkom, and be alone in the dark on the top floor of No.

7, Rue Toison d'Or, to-morrow night as surely as the clock strikes nine." And that was how the few persons who happened to be in the quiet upper reaches of the Rue Bienfaisance at half-past eight o'clock the next evening came to see a fat, fussing, red-faced Englishman in a grey frock-coat, white spats, and a shining topper, followed by a liveried servant with a hat-box in one hand and a portmanteau in the other--so conspicuous, the pair of them, that they couldn't have any desire to conceal themselves--cross over the square before the Church of St.
Augustine, fare forth into the darker side passages, and move in the direction of the street of the Golden Fleece.
They were, of course, Cleek and the boy Dollops.
"Lumme, Gov'nor," whispered he, as they turned at last into the utter darkness and desertion of the narrow Rue Toison d'Or, "if this is wot yer calls Gay Paree--this precious black slit between two rows of houses--I'll take a slice of the Old Kent Road with thanks.