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A flush sprang to the white cheeks of the stranger. "Well then,"

said he, "my real name is James Ryder."

"Precisely so. Head attendant at the Hotel Cosmopolitan. Pray

step into the cab, and I shall soon be able to tell you

everything which you would wish to know."

The little man stood glancing from one to the other of us with

half-frightened, half-hopeful eyes, as one who is not sure

whether he is on the verge of a windfall or of a catastrophe.

Then he stepped into the cab, and in half an hour we were back in

the sitting-room at Baker Street. Nothing had been said during

our drive, but the high, thin breathing of our new companion, and

the claspings and unclaspings of his hands, spoke of the nervous

tension within him.