ess in London than the one he did.

"And now," said Ford, "that we have Pearsall where we want him, tell me
what you have learned about Prothero?"

Cuthbert smiled importantly, and produced a piece of paper scribbled
over with notes.

"Prothero," he said, "seems to be THIS sort of man. If he made your
coffee for you, before you tasted it, you'd like him to drink a cup of
it first."

II

"Prothero," said Cuthbert, "is a man of mystery. As soon as I began
asking his neighbors questions, I saw he was of interest and that I was
of interest. I saw they did not believe I was an agent of a West End
shop, but a detective. So they wouldn't talk at all, or else they talked
freely. And from one of them, a chemist named Needham, I got all I
wanted. He's had a lawsuit against Prothero, and hates him. Prothero got
him to invest in a medicine to cure the cocaine habit. Needham found
the cure was no cure, but cocaine disguised. He sued for his money, and
during the trial the police brought in Prothero's record. Needham let me
copy it, and it seems to embrace every crime except treason. The man is
a Russian Jew. He was arrested and prosecuted in Warsaw, Vienna,
Berlin, Belgrade; all over Europe, until finally the police drove him to
America. There he was an editor of an anarchist paper, a blackmailer, a
'doctor' of hypnotism, a clairvoyant, and a professional bigamist. His
game was to open rooms as a clairvoyant, and advise silly women how to
invest their money. When he found out which of them had the most money,
he would marry her, take over her fortune, and skip. In Chicago, he was
tried for poisoning one wife, and the trial brought out the fact that
two others had died under suspicious circumstances, and that there
were three more unpoisoned but anxious to get back their money. He was
sentenced to ten years for bigamy, but pardoned because he was supposed
to be insane, and dying. Instead of dying, he opened a sanatorium in
New York to cure victims of the drug habit. In reality, it was a sort of
high-priced opium-den. The place was raided, and he jumped his bail and
came to this country. Now he is running this private hospital in Sowell
Street. Needham says it's a secret rendezvous for dope fiends. But they
are very high-class dope fiends, who are willing to pay for seclusion,
and the police can't get at him. I may add that he's tall and muscular,
with a big black beard, and hands that could strangle a bull. In
Chicago, du