irst pair counts 16 in the second, the third 4, the
fourth 2, and the fifth 1. Thus Green's effort became--

16--4---- 20
--------- = --
--8.4--1 13

The figure one was added to both numerator and denominator, and Green at
once went to the fourteenth pigeon-hole, in a row of the filing cabinet
numbered 21. There, if anywhere, he would find the record that he
sought. For awhile he was busy carefully looking through the collection.

"Here it is," he said at last and read: "Charles J. Condit. American.
No. 9781 Habitual Convicts' Registry."

"Put 'em back," said Foyle. "We'll find his record in the Registry."

The two detectives, uncertain as to where the regular staff kept the
files of the number they wanted, were some little time in searching. It
was Foyle who at last reached it from a top shelf and ran his eye over
it from the photograph pasted in the top left-hand corner to the meagre
details given below.

"This is our man right enough," he said. "American finger-prints and
photograph supplied by the New York people when he took a trip to this
country five years ago. Never convicted here. It says little about him.
We'll have to cable over to learn what they know."

"That gives us a chance for a remand," remarked Green.

"Exactly. And in the meantime he may tell us something. A prisoner gets
plenty of time for reflection when he's on remand."

CHAPTER XXVIII

Five minutes after Big Ben had struck ten o'clock Heldon Foyle walked
into his office to find Sir Ralph Fairfield striding up and down and
glancing impatiently at the clock. He made no direct answer to the
detective's salutation, but plunged at once into the object of his
visit.

"Have you seen the _Wire_ this morning?" he asked abruptly.

Foyle seated himself at his desk, imperturbable and unmoved.

"No," he answered, "but I know of the advertisement that brought you
here. As a matter of fact, I sent it to the paper. I should have called
on you if you hadn't come. Grell meant it for you, right enough."

The significance of the detective's admission that he knew of the
advertisement did not immediately strike Fairfield. He unfolded a copy
of the _Daily Wire_.

"What do you make of the infernal thing?" he demanded. "It's absolute
Greek to me."

With a letter selected from the pile of correspondence on his desk
unopened in his hand, Heldon Foyle swung round and faced his questioner.

"It's simply a sighting shot, Sir