flies, and picture to ourselves this gigantic ever-moving world of hurry and bustle, tragedy and comedy — our own London. But there!" he laughed "I'm actually growing romantic. I'm not often taken so, but perhaps it's the sight of the empty Strand at two in the morning. Ah! if we could only find Muriel! But we must to-morrow. Ta-ta! I shall go round to the club and sleep, for I haven't fixed on any diggings yet. Come in at ten to-morrow, and we'll decide upon some plan. One thing is plainly certain: Elma must at once be got out of Russia. She's in deadly peril of her life there."
"Yes," I said. "And you will help me?"
"With all my heart, old fellow," answered my friend, warmly grasping my hand, and then we parted, he strolling along towards the National Gallery on his way back to the "Junior," while I returned to the Cecil alone.
