ilion a very finely and distinctly executed
representation of the symbolical Eye of Osiris--or Horus or Ra, as the
different authorities have it. There certainly ought to be no
difficulty in identifying the body. But we will hope that it won't come
to that.

"And now I must really be running away, and so must you; but I would
advise you all to get copies of the paper and file them when you have
read the remarkably full details. It is a most curious case, and it is
highly probable that we shall hear of it again. Good afternoon,
gentlemen."

Dr. Thorndyke's advice appealed to all who heard it, for medical
jurisprudence was a live subject at St. Margaret's and all of us were
keenly interested in it. As a result, we sallied forth in a body to the
nearest newsvendor's, and, having each provided himself with a copy of
the _Daily Telegraph_, adjourned together to the Common Room to devour
the report and thereafter to discuss the bearings of the case,
unhampered by those considerations of delicacy that afflicted our more
squeamish and scrupulous teacher.

CHAPTER II

THE EAVESDROPPER

It is one of the canons of correct conduct, scrupulously adhered to
(when convenient) by all well-bred persons, that an acquaintance should
be initiated by a proper introduction. To this salutary rule, which I
have disregarded to the extent of an entire chapter, I now hasten to
conform; and the more so inasmuch as nearly two years have passed since
my first informal appearance.

Permit me, then, to introduce Paul Berkeley, M.B., etc., recently--very
recently--qualified, faultlessly attired in the professional frock-coat
and tall hat, and, at the moment of introduction, navigating with
anxious care a perilous strait between a row of well-filled coal-sacks
and a colossal tray piled high with kidney potatoes.

The passage of this strait landed me on the terra firma of Fleur-de-Lys
Court, where I halted for a moment to consult my visiting list. There
was only one more patient for me to see this morning, and he lived at 49
Nevill's Court, wherever that might be. I turned for information to the
presiding deity of the coal shop.

"Can you direct me, Mrs. Jablett, to Nevill's Court?"

She could and she did, grasping me confidentially by the arm (the mark
remained on my sleeve for weeks) and pointing a shaking forefinger at
the dead wall ahead. "Nevill's Court," said Mrs. Jablett, "is a alley,
and you goes into it through a archway. It