our later Stafford King received by special messenger a
communication which gave him something to think about. He read it
through twice, then called up the First Commissioner and gave him the
gist of the communication.

"That's the third time we've had this sort of message," he said.

"The others have proved right," said the Commissioner's voice, "why
shouldn't this?"

"But it seems incredible," said Stafford in perplexity. "We've been
watching these people for years and we've never found them with the
goods."

"I should certainly act on it, King, if I were you," said the
Commissioner. "Let me know what happens. Of course, you may make a
mistake, but you must take a chance on that."

Pinto had a lot of business to do at the theatre that night. For a week
he had not banked the theatre's takings, but had converted them into
paper money, and now he took from his safe the last penny he could
carry. It was half-past eleven when he came to his Club, where supper
had been prepared for him. He paid the bill from notes he had taken from
the bank that day. Presently the waiter came back.

"I beg your pardon, sir, but the cashier says that this note is a wrong
'un."

"A wrong 'un?" said Pinto in surprise, and took it in his hand.

There was no doubt whatever that the man was right. It was the most
obvious forgery he had ever handled.

"Then I've been sold," he smiled; "here's another."

He took the second note and examined it. That also was bad, as he could
tell at a glance. In the tail pocket of his dress-coat he had the money
he had taken from the theatre and was able to settle the bill. He was
worried on the journey back to the flat. He had drawn a hundred pounds
from the bank that morning in five-pound notes. He remembered putting
them into his pocket-book and had no occasion to disturb them since. It
was unlikely that the bank would have given him such obvious forgeries.
He was stepping from the taxi when the awful truth dawned on him. The
notes had been planted, the forgeries substituted for the good paper! He
was putting his hand in his pocket, intending to take out the money and
push it down the nearest drain, when he was gripped.

"Sorry and all that," said a voice.

He turned round shaking like an aspen.

"Stafford King," he said dully.

"Stafford King it is. I have a warrant for your arrest, Silva, on a
charge of forging and uttering. Bring him up to his rooms."

The colonel heard the noise on the sta