a little while and was about to take it
off, but changed his mind.

"I think not," he said, "I'll go round and see him to-morrow. I don't
hope to succeed in extracting the confidence in the case of Lady
Bartholomew, which he denied me over poor Lexman."

"I suppose you'll never give up hope of seeing Mr. Lexman again," smiled
Mansus, busily arranging a new blotting pad.

Before T. X. could answer there came a knock at the door, and a
uniformed policeman, entered. He saluted T. X.

"They've just sent an urgent letter across from your office, sir. I said
I thought you were here."

He handed the missive to the Commissioner. T. X. took it and glanced at
the typewritten address. It was marked "urgent" and "by hand." He
took up the thin, steel, paper-knife from the desk and slit open the
envelope. The letter consisted of three or four pages of manuscript and,
unlike the envelope, it was handwritten.

"My dear T. X.," it began, and the handwriting was familiar.

Mansus, watching the Commissioner, saw the puzzled frown gather on
his superior's forehead, saw the eyebrows arch and the mouth open
in astonishment, saw him hastily turn to the last page to read the
signature and then:

"Howling apples!" gasped T. X. "It's from John Lexman!"

His hand shook as he turned the closely written pages. The letter was
dated that afternoon. There was no other address than "London."

"My dear T. X.," it began, "I do not doubt that this letter will give
you a little shock, because most of my friends will have believed that I
am gone beyond return. Fortunately or unfortunately that is not so. For
myself I could wish--but I am not going to take a very gloomy view since
I am genuinely pleased at the thought that I shall be meeting you again.
Forgive this letter if it is incoherent but I have only this moment
returned and am writing at the Charing Cross Hotel. I am not staying
here, but I will let you have my address later. The crossing has been
a very severe one so you must forgive me if my letter sounds a little
disjointed. You will be sorry to hear that my dear wife is dead. She
died abroad about six months ago. I do not wish to talk very much about
it so you will forgive me if I do not tell you any more.

"My principal object in writing to you at the moment is an official
one. I suppose I am still amenable to punishment and I have decided to
surrender myself to the authorities to-night. You used to have a most
excellent assistant