died.

I return to the night when Inspector Dunbar, the grim Dunbar of
Scotland Yard, came to Dr. Stuart's house. His appearance there
puzzled me. I could not fail to recognize him, for as dusk had fully
come I had descended from my top window and was posted among the
bushes of the empty house from whence I commanded a perfect view of
the doctor's door. The night was unusually chilly--there had been some
rain--and when I crept around to the lane bordering the lawn, hoping
to see or hear something of what was taking place in the study, I
found that the windows were closed and the blinds drawn.

Luck seemed to have turned against me; for that night, at dusk, when I
had gone to a local garage where I kept my motor bicycle, I had
discovered the back tire to be perfectly flat and had been forced to
contain my soul in patience whilst the man repaired a serious puncture.
The result was of course that for more than half an hour I had not had
Dr. Stuart's house under observation. And a hundred and one things
can happen in half an hour.

Had Dr. Stuart sent for the Inspector? If so, I feared that the
envelope was missing, or at any rate that he had detected Zara
el-Khala in the act of stealing it and had determined to place the
matter in the hands of the police. It was a maddening reflection.
Again--I shrewdly suspected that I was not the only watcher of Dr.
Stuart's house. The frequency with which the big yellow car drew up
at the door a few moments after the doctor had gone out could not be
due to accident. Yet I had been unable to detect the presence of this
other watcher, nor had I any idea of the spot where the car remained
hidden--if my theory was a correct one. Nevertheless I did not expect
to see it come along whilst the Inspector remained at the house--
always supposing that Zara el-Khala had not yet succeeded. I
wheeled out the "Indian" and rode to a certain tobacconist's shop at
which I had sometimes purchased cigarettes.

He had a telephone in a room at the rear which customers were allowed
to use on payment of a fee, and a public call-box would not serve my
purpose, since the operator usually announces to a subscriber the fact
that a call emanated from such an office. The shop was closed, but I
rang the bell at the side door and obtained permission to use the
telephone upon pleading urgency. I had assiduously cultivated a natural
gift for mimicry, having found it of inestimable service in the
practice of my pro