work, and to
freshen our memories we reviewed the information furnished our chief
by the French commissaire.

So far as was known there was no picture of him extant, and the French
report described him about as follows:

'Nationality, French; age, probably about thirty to thirty-three
years; height, six feet, or nearly; weight, one hundred and
seventy-five pounds, approximate; figure good; square shoulders,
military air; features, regular; thin lipped; chin sharply pointed;
wears at times heavy beard, at others moustache and goatee; eyes dark,
called black; hair same, heavy, and sometimes worn quite long; hands
well kept, with long slender fingers; speaks English perfectly,
accomplished, etc.; a small triangular scar upon temple close to roots
of hair. Known to have been in Paris and London in early winter, and
to have crossed to New York about January 1st. Returned to Paris some
time in March, and crossed last to New York in early May by steamer
_Normandie_.'

'Well,' had been Dave's comment as we reperused this summary of M.
Delbras, 'he may disguise himself in many ways, but he can't change
his height very much, nor the colour of his eyes, nor his "regular
features"'--Dave's features were not strictly regular, and it was a
weakness of his always to resent this descriptive phrase--'nor his
slim fingers, nor the scar on his temple close to the roots of the
hair.'

We had spent a long morning in the rooms of the Secret Service Bureau,
and as we were about to take leave, with but a step between us and the
outer door, it was hastily opened and a guard entered, followed by
two people whom I recognised as Farmer and Mrs. Camp. With a backward
step and a quick glance at Dave, I turned and deliberately seated
myself.

The only occupants of the outer office at the moment of their entry
were the officer in command, who had just accompanied us from the
inner office, and the subordinate who was in charge of this outer
office, where complaints were received and first hearings granted.

I had drawn back quickly, but the eye of Mrs. Camp was still keen,
though she looked a trifle subdued.

'The good land!' she ejaculated, catching at her husband's arm.
'Here's one of 'em now, Camp! They've caught him, anyhow!'

The words furnished Dave with a clue to the situation, and he dropped
into a chair beside me, and, after one droll look in my direction,
gave himself up to a fit of silent mirth.

Meantime the guard had advanced