he greatest ease. That's probably what's
happened--I know that street as well as I know my own house--I'm not
surprised by that! What I'm surprised about is to hear that Lydenberg has
been shot at all. And the question is--is his murder of a piece with all
the rest of this damnable mystery, or is it clean apart from it?
Understand, Fullaway?"

"I'm thinking," answered the American. "It takes a lot of thinking, too."

"You see," continued Allerdyke, turning to Blindway again, "we're all
in a hole--in a regular fog. We know naught! literally naught. This
Lydenberg was a foreigner--Swede, Norwegian, Dane, or something. We
know nothing of him, except that he said he'd come to Hull on business.
He may have been shot for all sorts of reasons--private, political. We
don't know. But--mark me!--if his murder's connected with the others,
if it's all of a piece with my cousin's murder, and that French girl's,
why then--"

He paused, shaking his head emphatically, and the other two, impressed by
his earnestness, waited until he spoke again.

"Then," he continued at last, after a space of silence, during which he
seemed to be reflecting with added strenuousness--"then, by Heaven! we're
up against something that's going to take it out of us before we get at
the truth. That's a dead certainty. If this is all conspiracy, it's a big
'un--a colossal thing! What say, Fullaway?"

"I should say you're right," replied Fullaway. "I've been trying to
figure things up while you talked, though I gave you both ears. It looks
as if this Lydenberg had been shot in order to keep his tongue quiet
forever. Maybe he knew something, and was likely to split. What are your
people going to do about this?" he asked turning to the detective. "I
suppose you'll go down to Hull at once?"

"I shan't," answered Blindway. "I've enough to do here. One of our men
has already gone--he's on his way. We shall have to wait for news. I'm
inclined to agree with Mr. Allerdyke--it's a big thing, a very big thing.
If Mr. Allerdyke's cousin was really murdered, and if the Frenchwoman's
death arose out of that, and now Lydenberg's, there's a clever
combination at work. And--where's the least clue to it?"

Allerdyke helped himself to a fresh cigar out of a box which lay on
Fullaway's table, lighted it, and smoked in silence for a minute or two.
The other men, feeling instinctively that he was thinking, waited.

"Look you here!" he exclaimed suddenly. "Clue? Yes, that's