otland Yard could scarcely do
much towards elucidating an affair which, with every question which
was asked and answered, grew more mysterious. The papers upon the
table before the dead man were simply circulars and prospectuses of
no possible importance. His suitcase contained merely a few toilet
necessaries and some clean linen. There was not a scrap of paper or even
an envelope of any sort in his pockets. In a small leather case they
found a thousand dollars in American notes, five ten-pound Bank of
England notes, and a single visiting card on which was engraved the name
of Mr. Hamilton Fynes. In his trousers pocket was a handful of gold.
He had no other personal belongings of any sort. The space between the
lining of his coat and the material itself was duly noticed, but it was
empty. His watch was a cheap one, his linen unmarked, and his clothes
bore only the name of a great New York retail establishment. He had
certainly entered the train alone, and both the guard and attendant were
ready to declare positively that no person could have been concealed in
it. The engine-driver, on his part, was equally ready to swear that
not once from the moment when they had steamed out of Liverpool Station
until they had arrived within twenty miles of London, had they travelled
at less than forty miles an hour. At Willington he had found a signal
against him which had brought him nearly to a standstill, and under
the regulations he had passed through the station at ten miles an hour.
These were the only occasions, however, on which he had slackened speed
at all. The train attendant, who was a nervous man, began to shiver
again and imagine unmentionable things. The guard, who had never left
his own brake, went home and dreamed that his effigy had been added to
the collection of Madame Tussaud. The reporters were the only people who
were really happy, with the exception, perhaps of Inspector Jacks, who
had a weakness for a difficult case.

Fifteen miles north of London, a man lay by the roadside in the shadow
of a plantation of pine trees, through which he had staggered only a few
minutes ago. His clothes were covered with dust, he had lost his cap,
and his trousers were cut about the knee as though from a fall. He
was of somewhat less than medium height, dark, slender, with delicate
features, and hair almost coal black. His face, as he moved slowly from
side to side upon the grass, was livid with pain. Every now and then he
raised