stranger was Mr. Luker, of Lambeth, we will
now follow Mr. Godfrey home to his residence
at Kilburn.

He found waiting for him, in the hall, a
poorly clad but delicate and interesting-looking
little boy. The boy handed him a letter,
merely mentioning that he had been entrusted
with it by an old lady whom he did not know,
and who had given him no instructions to wait
for an answer. Such incidents as these were
not uncommon in Mr. Godfrey's large
experience as a promoter of public charities. He
let the boy go, and opened the letter.

The handwriting was entirely unfamiliar to
him. It requested his attendance, within an
hour's time, at a house in Northumberland-
street, Strand, which he had never had
occasion to enter before. The object sought was
to obtain from the worthy manager certain
details on the subject of the Mothers' Small-
Clothes-Conversion-Society, and the information
was wanted by an elderly lady who proposed
adding largely to the resources of the charity,
if her questions were met by satisfactory replies.
She mentioned her name, and she added that
the shortness of her stay in London prevented
her from giving any longer notice to the
eminent philanthropist whom she addressed.

Ordinary people might have hesitated before
setting aside their own engagements to suit the
convenience of a stranger. The Christian Hero
never hesitates where good is to be done.
Mr. Godfrey instantly turned back, and
proceeded to the house in Northumberland-street.
A most respectable though somewhat corpulent
man answered the door, and, on hearing Mr.
Godfrey's name, immediately conducted him
into an empty apartment at the back, on the
drawing-room floor. He noticed two unusual
things on entering the room. One of them
was a faint odour of musk and camphor. The
other was an ancient Oriental manuscript,
richly illuminated with Indian figures and
devices, that lay open to inspection on a table.

He was looking at the book, the position of
which caused him to stand with his back turned
towards the closed folding doors communicating
with the front room, when, without the slightest
previous noise to warn him, he felt himself
suddenly seized round the neck from behind. He
had just time to notice that the arm round his
neck was naked and of a tawny-brown colour,
before his eyes were bandaged, his mouth was
gagged, and he was thrown helpless on the
floor by (as he judged) two men. A third
rifled his pockets, and—if, as a lady, I may
venture to use such an expression—searched
him, without ceremony, through and through
to his skin.

Here I should greatly enjoy saying a few
cheering words on the devout confidence which
could alone have sustained Mr. Godfrey in an
emergency so terrible as this. Perhaps,
however, the position and appearance of my
admirable friend at the culminating period of the
outrage (as above described) are hardly within
the proper limits of female discussion. Let me
pass over the next few moments, and return to
Mr. Godfrey at the time when the odious search
of his person had been completed. The outrage
had been perpetrated throughout in dead
silence. At the end of it some words were
exchanged, among the invisible wretches, in a
language which he did not understand, but in
tones which were plainly expressive (to his
cultivated ear) of disappointment and rage.
He was suddenly lifted from the ground, placed
in a chair, and bound there hand and foot. The
next moment he felt the air flowing in from the
open door, listened, and felt persuaded that he
was alone again in the room.

An interval elapsed, and he heard a sound
below like the rustling sound of a woman's
dress. It advanced up the stairs, and stopped.
A female scream rent the atmosphere of guilt.
A man's voice below exclaimed, "Hullo!" A
man's feet ascended the stairs. Mr. Godfrey felt
Christian fingers unfastening his bandage, and
extracting his gag. He looked in amazement at
two respectable strangers, and faintly articulated,
"What does it mean?" The two
respectable strangers looked back, and said,
"Exactly the question we were going to ask you."

The inevitable explanation followed. No!
Let me be scrupulously particular. Sal volatile
and water followed, to compose dear Mr.
Godfrey's nerves. The explanation came next.

It appeared, from the statement of the landlord
and landlady of the house (persons of
good repute in the neighbourhood), that their
first and second floor apartments had been
engaged, on the previous day, for a week certain,
by a most respectable-looking gentleman—the
same who has been already described as answering
the door to Mr. Godfrey's knock. The
gentleman had paid the week's rent and all the
week's extras in advance, stating that the
apartments were wanted for three Oriental
noblemen, friends of his, who were visiting
England for the first time. Early on the morning
of the outrage, two of the Oriental strangers,
accompanied by their respectable English
friend, took possession of the apartments.
The third was expected to join them shortly;
and the luggage (reported as very bulky) was
announced to follow when it had passed through
the Custom-house, late in the afternoon. Not
more than ten minutes previous to Mr.
Godfrey's visit, the third foreigner had arrived.
Nothing out of the common had happened, to
the knowledge of the landlord and landlady
down-stairs, until within the last five minutes—
when they had seen the three foreigners,
accompanied by their respectable English friend,
all leave the house together, walking quietly in
the direction of the Strand. Remembering
that a visitor had called, and not having seen
the visitor also leave the house, the landlady
had thought it rather strange that the gentleman
should be left by himself up-stairs. After
a short discussion with her husband, she had
considered it advisable to ascertain whether
anything was wrong. The result had followed,
as I have already attempted to describe it; and