to you newspaper
fellows. You'd better get hold of his relations, if you can find them."

"But, my dear Mr. Coulson," the young man said, "we haven't any idea
where they are to be found, and in the meantime you can't imagine what
reports are in circulation."

"Guess I can figure them out pretty well," Mr. Coulson remarked with a
smile. "We've got an evening press of our own in New York."

The reporter nodded.

"Well," he said, "They'd be able to stretch themselves out a bit on
a case like this. You see," he continued confidentially, "we are up
against something almost unique. Here is an astounding and absolutely
inexplicable murder, committed in a most dastardly fashion by a person
who appears to have vanished from the face of the earth. Not a single
thing is known about the victim except his name. We do not know whether
he came to England on business or pleasure. He may, in short, have been
any one from a millionaire to a newspaper man. Judging from his special
train," the reporter concluded with a smile, "and the money which was
found upon him, I imagine that he was certainly not the latter."

Mr. Coulson went on his way toward the exit from the station, puffing
contentedly at his big cigar.

"Well," he said to his companion, who showed not the slightest
disposition to leave his side, "it don't seem to me that there's much
worth repeating about poor Fynes,--much that I knew, at any rate. Still,
if you like to get in a cab with me and ride as far as the Savoy, I'll
tell you what I can."

"You are a brick, sir," the young man declared. "Haven't you any
luggage, though?"

"I checked what I had through from Liverpool to the hotel," Mr. Coulson
answered. "I can't stand being fussed around by all these porters, and
having to go and take pot luck amongst a pile of other people's baggage.
We'll just take one of these two-wheeled sardine tins that you people
call hansoms, and get round to the hotel as quick as we can. There are a
few pals of mine generally lunch in the cafe there, and they mayn't all
have cleared out if we look alive."

They started a moment or two later. Mr. Coulson leaned forward and,
folding his arms upon the apron of the cab, looked about him with
interest.

"Say," he remarked, removing his cigar to the corner of his mouth in
order to facilitate conversation, "this old city of yours don't change
any."

"Not up in this part, perhaps," the reporter agreed. "We've some fine
new buildings down t