about a railway
company which was operating in Asia Minor, and the shares of which stood
a little below par. T. X. thanked him for the advice, and did not take
it, nor did he feel any regret when the shares rose 3 pounds in as many
weeks.

T. X. had superintended the disposal of Beston Priory. He had the
furniture removed to London, and had taken a flat for Grace Lexman.

She had a small income of her own, and this, added to the large
royalties which came to her (as she was bitterly conscious) in
increasing volume as the result of the publicity of the trial, placed
her beyond fear of want.

"Fifteen years," murmured T. X., as he worked and whistled.

There had been no hope for John Lexman from the start. He was in debt
to the man he killed. His story of threatening letters was not
substantiated. The revolver which he said had been flourished at him
had never been found. Two people believed implicitly in the story, and a
sympathetic Home Secretary had assured T. X. personally that if he could
find the revolver and associate it with the murder beyond any doubt,
John Lexman would be pardoned.

Every stream in the neighbourhood had been dragged. In one case a small
river had been dammed, and the bed had been carefully dried and sifted,
but there was no trace of the weapon, and T. X. had tried methods more
effective and certainly less legal.

A mysterious electrician had called at 456 Cadogan Square in Kara's
absence, and he was armed with such indisputable authority that he
was permitted to penetrate to Kara's private room, in order to examine
certain fitments.

Kara returning next day thought no more of the matter when it was
reported to him, until going to his safe that night he discovered that
it had been opened and ransacked.

As it happened, most of Kara's valuable and confidential possessions
were at the bank. In a fret of panic and at considerable cost he had
the safe removed and another put in its place of such potency that the
makers offered to indemnify him against any loss from burglary.

T. X. finished his work, washed his hands, and was drying them when
Mansus came bursting into the room. It was not usual for Mansus to
burst into anywhere. He was a slow, methodical, painstaking man, with a
deliberate and an official, manner.

"What's the matter?" asked T. X. quickly.

"We didn't search Vassalaro's lodgings," cried Mansus breathlessly. "It
just occurred to me as I was coming over Westminster Bridge