He came round and looked over my shoulder. I pointed to what was
evidently part of the gummed edge of the top of the envelope. On it were
these three important words, "----swell Street, Woolahra."

"Well," he said, "what about it?"

"Why, look here!" I said, as I opened the _Evening Mercury_ and pointed
to the stamp-mark at the bottom. "The man who bought this newspaper at
Mr. Maxwell's shop also bought this envelope there. The letters 'swell'
before 'street' constitute the last half of Ipswell, the name of the
street. If that man be Nikola, as we suspect, the person who served him
is certain to remember him, and it is just within the bounds of
possibility he may know his address."

"That's so," said the Inspector, struck with the force of my argument.
"I know Mr. Maxwell's shop, and our best plan will be to go on there as
fast as we can."

Again thanking the landlord for his civility, we returned to our cab and
once more set off, this time for Mr. Maxwell's shop in Ipswell Street.
By the time we reached it it was nearly three o'clock, and gradually
growing light. As the cab drew up alongside the curb the Inspector
jumped out and rang the bell at the side door. It was opened after
awhile by a shock-headed youth, who stared at us in sleepy astonishment.

"Does Mr. Maxwell live at the shop?" asked the Inspector.

"No, sir."

"Where then?"

"Ponson Street--third house on the left-hand side."

"Thank you."

Once more we jumped into the cab and rattled off. It seemed to me, so
anxious and terrified was I for my darling's safety, that we were fated
never to get the information we wanted; the whole thing was like some
nightmare, in which, try how I would to move, every step was clogged.

A few minutes' drive brought us to Ponson Street, and we drew up at the
third house on the left-hand side. It was a pretty little villa, with a
nice front garden and a creeper-covered verandah. We rang the bell and
waited. Presently we heard some one coming down the passage, and a
moment later the door was unlocked.

"Who is there?" cried a voice from within.

"Police," said my companion as before.

The door was immediately opened, and a very small sandy-complexioned
man, dressed in a flaring suit of striped pyjamas, stood before us. "Is
anything wrong, gentlemen?" he asked nervously.

"Nothing to affect you, Mr. Maxwell," my companion replied. "We only
want a little important information, if you can give it us. We are
anx