relieved by Charles II. appointing him governor of yonder Duck Island at a salary of three hundred pounds a year.

'Well, I have little money in my pocket,' quoth Zola, 'but I don't think I shall come to that. I hope that my pen alone will always yield me the little I require.'

But Big Ben struck the hour. It was six o'clock. So we separated, Messrs. Zola and Desmoulin to retire to the dungeon at the Grosvenor, and I to go in search of my friend the solicitor at his private house at Wimbledon.

III

DANGER SIGNALS

That evening, I called upon my friend—Mr. F. W. Wareham, of Wimbledon, and Ethelburge House, Bishopsgate Street—and laid before him the legal points. I afterwards arranged to see him on the following morning in town, when I hoped to fix a meeting between him and M. Zola. My first call on Thursday, July 21, was made to the Grosvenor Hotel, where I found both the master and M. Desmoulin in a state of anxiety. M. Zola, for his part, felt altogether out of his element. After the excitement of his trial and his journey to England, and the novelty of finding himself stranded in a strange city, a kind of reaction had set in and he was extremely depressed.

M. Desmoulin on his side, having procured several morning newspapers, had explored their columns to ascertain whether the ladies by whom the master had been recognised in the street on the previous day, had by any chance noised the circumstance abroad. However, the Press was still on the Norway and Holland scents, and as yet not a paper so much as suggested M. Zola's presence in England.

'There has hardly been time,' said Desmoulin to me, 'but there will probably be something fresh this afternoon. Those actresses are certain to tell people, and we shall have to make ourselves scarce.'

I tried to cheer and tranquillise both him and M. Zola, and then arranged that Wareham should come to the hotel at 2 P.M. Meantime, said I, whatever M. Desmoulin might do, it would be as well for M. Zola to remain indoors. Several commissions were entrusted to me, and I went off, promising to return about noon.

I betook myself first to Messrs. Chatto and Windus's in St. Martin's Lane, where I arrived a few minutes before ten o'clock. Neither Mr. Chatto nor his partner, Mr. Percy Spalding, had as yet arrived, and I therefore had to wait a few minutes. When Mr. Spalding made his appearance he greeted me with a smile, and while leading the way to his private room exclaimed, 'So our friend Zola is in London!'

To describe my amazement is beyond my powers. I could only gasp, 'How do you know that?'

'Why, my wife saw him yesterday in Buckingham Palace Road.'

I was confounded. For my part I had scarcely glanced at the ladies whom Desmoulin had conjectured to be French actresses—simply because they were young, prepossessing, and spoke French!—and certainly I should not readily have recognised Mrs. Spalding, whom I had only met once some years previously. It now seemed to me rather fortunate that she should be the person who had recognised M. Zola, since she would naturally be discreet as soon as the situation should be made clear to her.

After I had explained the position, I ascertained that the only person besides herself who knew anything so far were her husband and the lady friend who had accompanied her on the previous day.

'I will telegraph to my wife at once,' said Mr. Spalding, 'and you may be sure that the matter will go no further. We certainly had a hearty laugh at breakfast this morning when we read in the "Telegraph" of Zola bicycling over the Swiss frontier; but, of course, as from what you tell me, the matter is serious, neither my wife nor myself will speak of it.'

'And her friend?' I exclaimed, 'she knows nothing of the necessity for secrecy, and may perhaps gossip about it.'

'She is going to Hastings to-day.'

'Hastings!' said I, 'why M. Desmoulin, Zola's companion, does nothing but talk of going to Hastings! I am glad I know this. Hastings is barred for good, so far as Zola is concerned.'

'Well, I will arrange for my wife to see her friend this morning before she starts,' Mr. Spalding rejoined, 'and in this way we may be sure that her friend will say nothing.'

This excellent suggestion was acted upon immediately. Mr. Spalding telegraphed full instructions to his wife, and later in the day I learnt that everything had been satisfactorily arranged. But for this timely action, following upon my lucky call at Messrs. Chatto and Windus's establishment, it is virtually certain that the meeting in the Buckingham Palace Road would have been talked about and the game of 'Where is Zola?' brought to an abrupt conclusion. As it happened, both ladies, being duly warned, preserved absolute secrecy.

After going to Bishopsgate Street to see Wareham, and executing several minor commissions, I returned to the Grosvenor, where Zola and Desmoulin were much amused when I told them of the outcome of the previous day's fright.

'It was a remarkable coincidence certainly,' said M. Zola. 'At a low calculation I daresay a thousand women passed me in the streets yesterday; just one of them recognised me, and she, you say, was Mrs. Spalding. Shortsighted as I am, not having seen her, too, since I was in England, a few years ago, I had no notion she was the person who turned as she passed along, and said, "There's Monsieur Zola."

'But the curious part of it is that you should have had to go to Chatto's, and should have learnt the lady's name so promptly from her husband! Mathematically there were untold chances that this lady who recognised me might be some stranger's wife, and that we might never more hear anything of her! Yet you discover her identity at once. This is the kind of thing which occasionally occurs in novels, but which critics say never happens in real life. Well, now we know the contrary.'

And he added gaily, 'You see it is another instance of my good luck, which still attends me in spite of all the striving of those who bear me grudges.'

So far as the ladies were concerned things were, indeed, very satisfactory. But the same could hardly be said of the position at the Grosvenor. Neither M. Zola nor M. Desmoulin could leave the hotel or return to it without being scrutinised. They had also noticed many a glance in their direction at meal-time in the dining-room; and they had come to the conclusion that departure was imperative. I did not gainsay them, for I shared their views, and, in fact, I had already discussed the matter with Wareham. I explained, however, that one must have a few hours to devise suitable plans.

Seaside places were dangerous at that time of the year, and the best course would probably be to take a furnished house in the country. Meantime, said I, Wareham had kindly offered to accommodate M. Zola at his residence at Wimbledon, while M. Desmoulin might sleep close by at the house of Mr. Everson (Wareham's managing clerk), who also disposed of a spare bedroom. Further discussion of these matters was postponed, however, until Wareham's arrive at the Grosvenor in the afternoon.

As Zola and Desmoulin both distrusted the inquisitive glances of the visitors and the attendants at the hotel, we lunched, I remember, at a restaurant in or near Victoria Street—a deep, narrow place, crowded with little tables. And here again M. Zola, in his light garments, with the rosette of the Legion of Honour showing brightly in his buttonhole, became the observed of all observers.

He was, indeed, so conspicuous, so characteristic a figure that, looking backward and