e broke in upon his thoughts.

"We didn't find anything bearing on Waverley."

"Waverley?" repeated Foyle. "Oh yes, I had almost forgotten him."

For an hour after they had reached Scotland Yard the superintendent
laboured at his desk, collecting reports and writing fresh chapters in
the book which held all the facts in relation to the crime, so far as
he knew them. He slipped the result of his labours at last in an
envelope and left them over to be dealt with by the inspector in charge
of the Registry, which is a department that serves as official memory to
Scotland Yard.

"That is all right," he said, and stretched himself.

Some one knocked at the door. The handle turned and an erect man with
his right arm carried in a black silk handkerchief improvised into a
sling entered the room. It was Detective-Inspector Waverley.

CHAPTER XVIII

Heldon Foyle was on his feet in a second, and he pushed a chair towards
his subordinate. Detective-Inspector Waverley sat down and drummed
nervously on his knees with the fingers of his left hand.

"Well, you've got back," said the superintendent in a non-committal
tone. "We were beginning to wonder what had happened to you. I hope that
arm of yours is not badly hurt. What has been the trouble?"

The inspector winced and sat bolt upright in his chair.

"I guess I was to blame, sir," he said. "I fell into a trap like a
new-joined cabbage-boy. This man, Ivan Abramovitch, must have known that
he was followed by a couple of us, so he threw off Taylor, who was with
me, very simply, by going into a big outfitter's place in the City. I
dodged round to a second entrance and, sure enough, he came out there. I
couldn't get word to Taylor, so I picked him up, and a pretty dance he
led me through a maze of alleys up the side of Petticoat Lane and round
about by the Whitechapel Road. You will know the sort of neighbourhood
it is there. Well, I suppose I must have got a bit careless, for in
taking a narrow twist in one of those alleys some one dropped on me from
behind. I hit out and yelled, but I didn't get a second chance, for my
head was bumped hard down on the pavement and I went to sleep for good
and plenty. There were a couple of men in it, for I could hear 'em
talking before I became properly unconscious. They dragged me along,
linking their arms in mine, and we got into a cab. I guess the driver
thought I was drunk, and that they were my pals helping me home.

"When I cam