her-clock in the Sheraton case
that ticked against the wainscot behind him, as he advised:

"Take 'em in numerical sequence. No. 1 is the photographed facsimile of
the cover of the bogus letter to Mr. Casey. No. 2"--the speaker lightly
touched it with a large round finger-tip--"that's the replica--also
photographed--of a card the man we're after wrote on and gave to Lady
Hannah, in case she found herself inclined to invest a hundred or so in
the kind of wares he professed to supply. Photo No. 3 is a reproduction of
an autograph and address that's written on the inside cover of the ledger
--posted up in thieves' cipher--that was in the cashbox found at Haargrond
Plaats." He waited, screwing painfully at the stiff, waxed ends of the
scrubby moustache.

Saxham took the photographs in their order. The envelope of the bogus
letter brought by the supposed runner from Diamond Town had been addressed
in a big bold black round hand with curiously malformed capitals, to

"Mr. BARNEY CASEY,
"Commercial Traveller,
"Gueldersdorp.

"Care of the Officer Commanding H.M. Forces"

"--Don't put it back in the envelope," said Major Bingo. "Compare the
writin' with No. 2."

No. 2 was the photograph of an oblong card. On it was written in ink, in
the same bold hand:

"Mr. HENDRYK VAN BUSCH,
"C/o Mr. W. Bough,
"Transport Agent,
"Haargrond Plaats,
"Near Matambani,
"Transvaal."

LXIV

There was a silence in the consulting-room, only broken by street noises
filtered thin by walls and curtains, and the ticking of the Sheraton
grandfather clock, and the breathing of two people. Saxham glanced at
Major Bingo with eyes that seemed to have been bleached of colour, and
laid the second calligraphic specimen beside the first, and took up No. 3,
and read in the same large nourishing round hand:

"W. BOUGH,
"Free State Hotel,
"50 m. from Driepoort,
"Orange Free State."

After that the silence was intense. The clock ticked, and the faint,
far-off street noises came through the intervening screens, but only one
of the men in the room seemed to be breathing. At last Saxham's grey lips
moved. He said in a horrible clicking whisper:

"Van Busch and Bough are--one?"

Major Wrynche's large face nodded in the affirmative. But it was as
expressionless as the grandfather clock's.

"One man!--and that's what I may call the pith of my verbal Despatch for
you!"

Saxham said with hard composure:

"Van Bus