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"So much for the Lascar manager. Now for the sinister cripple who

lives upon the second floor of the opium den, and who was

certainly the last human being whose eyes rested upon Neville St.

Clair. His name is Hugh Boone, and his hideous face is one which

is familiar to every man who goes much to the City. He is a

professional beggar, though in order to avoid the police

regulations he pretends to a small trade in wax vestas. Some

little distance down Threadneedle Street, upon the left-hand

side, there is, as you may have remarked, a small angle in the

wall. Here it is that this creature takes his daily seat,

cross-legged with his tiny stock of matches on his lap, and as he

is a piteous spectacle a small rain of charity descends into the

greasy leather cap which lies upon the pavement beside him. I

have watched the fellow more than once before ever I thought of

making his professional acquaintance, and I have been surprised

at the harvest which he has reaped in a short time.