han Lola Rachael,
little Lola of Vienna, otherwise the Princess Petrovska.

CHAPTER XVII

There was nothing more to be done at Grave Street. Heldon Foyle remained
in the house while Green walked to the chief divisional station, and in
an hour or two the divisional inspector with a couple of men arrived.
Then Foyle saw to a strict search of the house from top to bottom.
Nothing there was that seemed to possess any great importance as bearing
on the case. The man who had fled over the roof had used a single room,
apparently as bed- and sitting-room, so it was to this place that the
detectives devoted chief attention.

"He must have been sleeping in his clothes," grumbled Green. "He hadn't
time to dress. There's the typewriter the note was written on."

He sat down before a rickety table and, inserting a piece of paper in
the machine, slowly tapped out the alphabet, and after a brief
inspection passed the paper on to the superintendent, who scanned it
casually, and was about to throw it away when something gripped his
attention.

"This looks queer," he muttered, and held the paper up slantingly away
from the gas-jet in order to examine it by what photographers call
transmitted light.

His brows were drawn together tightly. The sheet of paper which Green
had used was an ordinary piece of writing-paper. On its rough surface
Foyle had noted a slight sheen, unusual enough to attract his
attention. Even he would not have noticed it but for the angle in which
he had happened first to look at it when he took it from Green. It might
be an accidental fault in the manufacture of the paper. Yet, trivial as
it seemed, it was unusual, and one of the chief assets in detective work
is not to let the unusual go unexplained.

"It's the same typewriter. There can be no question of that," said
Green. "You can see that the 'b' is knocked about and the 'o' is out of
line."

"That's all right," said Foyle. "I wasn't thinking of that. It looks to
me as if there's some sympathetic writing on this."

He held the paper so that the heat from the gas-jet warmed it. Every
moment he expected that the heat would bring something to light on the
paper. He gave a petulant exclamation as nothing happened, and his eyes
roved over the table whence Green had taken the paper. He believed that
he was not mistaken, that there was something written which could be
brought to light if he knew how. He knew that there were chemicals that
could be u