"You don't know little Quin, sir!" "Every man is dangerous," said the old man without moving, "who cares only for one thing.

I was once dangerous myself." And with a pleasant smile he finished his coffee and rose, bowing profoundly, passed out into the fog, which had again grown dense and sombre.

Three days afterwards they heard that he had died quietly in lodgings in Soho.
* * * * * Drowned somewhere else in the dark sea of fog was a little figure shaking and quaking, with what might at first sight have seemed terror or ague: but which was really that strange malady, a lonely laughter.
He was repeating over and over to himself with a rich accent--"But speaking in the interests of the public....".