managed to say at last. "I had him--I had the Vanishing Cracksman--in my
blessed paws--and then went and let that French hussy--But look here; I
say, now, how do you know it was him? Nobody can go by his looks; so how
do you know?"

"Know, you footler!" growled Smathers, disgustedly. "Why shouldn't I
know when I've been after him ever since he left Scotland Yard half an
hour ago?"

"Left what? My hat! You ain't a-going to tell me that he's been there?
When? Why? What for?"

"To leave one of his blessed notices, the dare-devil. What a detective
he'd a made, wouldn't he, if he'd only a-turned his attention that way,
and been on the side of the law instead of against it? He walked in bold
as brass, sat down, and talked with the superintendent over some
cock-and-bull yarn about a 'Black Hand' letter that he said had been
sent to him, and asked if he couldn't have police protection whilst he
was in town. It wasn't until after he'd left that the super he sees a
note on the chair where the blighter had been sitting, and when he
opened it, there it was in black and white, something like this:

"'The list of presents that have been sent for the wedding to-morrow
of Sir Horace Wyvern's eldest daughter make interesting reading,
particularly that part which describes the jewels sent--no doubt as a
tribute to her father's position as the greatest brain specialist in the
world--from the Austrian Court and the Continental principalities. The
care of such gems is too great a responsibility for the bride. I
propose, therefore, to relieve her of it to-night, and to send you the
customary souvenir of the event to-morrow morning. Yours faithfully,