fares, as though to escape observation, until he reached a certain little cottage in the western end of Little Lonsdale Street, where he suddenly halted, and anxiously looked round him, as though fearful of being observed. Evidently seeing no one about, he pulled a little note book from his pocket, looked at the number on the door, as though to make sure that it tallied with the one in the book, and then gently stepped forward and knocked at the door. Presently a somewhat elderly man opened it, and without a word passing between them the visitor entered and the door was instantly closed behind him.
“Well, Slymer,” said the host, as soon as his visitor was seated, “did you do as I instructed you?”
“Yes,” was the curt reply.
Felix Slymer, without further ceremony, pulled out some papers from his pocket and handed them to his friend, who very carefully perused them, while the little eyes of his visitor were busily employed in taking in a very exhaustive view of the apartment in which he was waiting.
Presently the elderly man folded up the papers, placed them carefully in his pocket, and turning to Slymer, said:
“That will do, Slymer; you have faithfully performed your mission, and here is your reward.”
Slymer's eyes glistened, as his flabby hands clutched the ten bright sovereigns that were handed to him; but there was not that expression of glee that one would expect to see exhibited by one of so humble an appearance upon receipt of such a relatively large sum. Having carefully deposited the money in a secret pocket in the inner lining of his vest—he considered it unbecoming or inexpedient for one in his position to be seen using a purse—he was about to withdraw, when the other suddenly called him over to him.
“Felix,” said he, “I wish to ask you something before you go.”
“What's the matter now, Grindall,” was the reply, “I am not going to open my mouth for nothing.”
“Oh, don’t trouble yourself on that score, my friend, I am not going to ask you for ‘professional’ information just now. But I am a little uneasy about a paragraph I read in The Daily Weathercock this morning, and I thought you might enlighten me a little on the matter. Here, read it for yourself.”
Taking up the newspaper as directed, Slymer instantly read the following:—
TERRIFIC RIOT IN THE CITY.
Suspicious Agencies at Work.
In another part of this issue we give full and startling particulars of the extraordinary tumult which occurred in the city last evening. The labor party, intoxicated with recent legislative victories and eager for the plunder which they have so long threatened in dark and mysterious hints, burst out in full fury last night, upon the occasion of a “monster indignation meeting” as they called it, which was held in Flinders Street and subsequently shifted to the corner of Collins Street and Russell Street where the tragic events narrated elsewhere took place. It appears that several of the discontented loafers, who scorn to live except upon
