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pausing briefly to allow a crowded omnibus to lumber past, the horses straining to
    pull the heavy vehicle. The driver of a quick-moving hansom cab spotted him and offered his services.
    Adam waved him off. He could make better time on foot.
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    When he reached the pavement on the far side, he turned down a narrow stone walk and cut through a
    small, neglected park. His old life on the streets had left him with a knowledge of the city's maze of
    hidden lanes and uncharted alleys that few coachmen could equal.
    When he emerged from the brick walk he saw a news-boy hawking the latest edition of the Flying
    Intelligencer.
    Some idiotic impulse made him stop in front of the scruffy-looking vendor.
    "I'll have a copy, if you please." He took a coin out of his pocket.
    "Aye, sir." The lad grinned and reached into his sack to remove a paper. "You're in luck. I've got one
    left. Expect you're eager to read the next episode of Mrs. Fordyce's story, like all the rest of my
    customers."
    "I will admit I am somewhat curious about it."
    "You'll be pleased enough with this installment of The Mysterious Gentleman, sir," the boy assured him.
    "It be-gins with a very startling incident and ends with a fine cliff-hanger."
    "Indeed?" Adam glanced at the front page of the cheap paper and saw that The Mysterious Gentleman
    by Mrs. C. J. Fordyce occupied three full columns. "What of the character of Edmund Drake? Does he
    come to a bad end?"
    "Not yet, sir. Much too soon for that. Drake's still acting very mysterious, though, and it's obvious he's
    up to no good." The newsboy's eyes gleamed with anticipation. "He's hatching a nasty plot against the
    heroine, Miss Lydia Hope"
    "I see. Well, that is what villains do, is it not? Hatch nasty plots against innocent ladies?"
    "Aye, and that's a fact, but there's no need to worry," the boy said cheerfully. "Edmund Drake will meet
    a right dreadful fate. All of Mrs. Fordyce's villains come to terrible ends in the final episodes."
    Adam folded the paper and tucked it under his arm. "Something to look forward to, no doubt."
    A short time later he went up the steps of the big house inLaxton Square . Morton, bald head gleaming
    in the morning sun, had the door open before Adam could retrieve his key.
    "Welcome home, sir," Morton said.
    If he had not been so weary, Adam thought, he would have been amused by Morton's studied lack of
    curiosity. It was, after all, half past ten. He had left the house shortly before nine last night to go to his
    club and had not returned until this moment. One would assume that the butler must have a few
    questions. But Morton was far too well schooled or, more likely, too well inured to the eccentric ways of
    the household to remark upon the hour.
    "Mr. Grendon has just sat down to a late breakfast, sir." Morton took Adam's coat and hat. "Perhaps
    you would care to join him?"
    "An excellent notion, Morton. I believe I will do that."
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    He needed food as much as he needed sleep, Adam thought. And sooner or later, he would have to
    faceWilson and convey the bad news. Might as well get the business behind him.
    When he walked into the paneled and polished breakfast room a short time later, Wilson Grendon
    looked up from the depths of his morning paper. He studied Adam for a few brief seconds and then
    removed his gold-rimmed spectacles and set them aside.
    "You had no luck, I take it?" he asked without preamble.
    "The medium was dead when I found her. Murdered."
    "Damnation."Wilson 's thick gray brows bunched over his formidable nose. "Delmont is dead? Are you
    certain?"
    "Hard to be mistaken about that sort of thing." Adam tossed the folded newspaper onto the table and
    crossed to the sideboard to survey the array of dishes. "There was no sign of the diary, so I am forced to
    conclude that the killer stole it. I spent half the