of M.
Duquesne.

To the latter's unbounded astonishment, at the door he turned and raised
his hat to him ironically.

Familiar with the characteristic bravado of French criminals, that
decided the detective's next move. He stepped quickly back to the
counter as the polite stranger disappeared.

"I am Duquesne of Paris," he said in his fluent English to the clerk who
had taken the message, and showed his card. "On official business I wish
to inspect the last telegram which you received."

The clerk shook his head.

"Can't be done. Only for Scotland Yard."

Duquesne was a man of action. He wasted not a precious moment in
feckless argument. It was hard that he should have to share this
treasure with another. But in seven minutes he was at New Scotland Yard,
and in fifteen he was back again to his great good fortune, with
Inspector Sheffield.

The matter was adjusted. In the notebooks of Messrs Duquesne and
Sheffield the following was written:

"Sheard, _Gleaner_, Tudor Street. Laurel Cottage, Dulwich Village, eight
to-night."

Returning to the Astoria to make arrangements for the evening's
expedition, Duquesne upon entering his room, found there a large-boned
man, with a great, sparsely-covered skull, and a thin, untidy beard. He
sat writing by the window, and, at the other's entrance, cast a slow
glance from heavy-lidded eyes across his shoulder.

M. Duquesne bowed profoundly, hat in hand.

It was the great Lemage.

There were overwhelming forces about to take the field. France, England
and the United States were combining against Severac Bablon. It seemed
that at Laurel Cottage he was like to meet his Waterloo.

At twenty-five minutes to seven that evening a smart plain-clothes
constable reported in Chief Inspector Sheffield's room.

"Well, Dawson?" said the inspector, looking up from his writing.

"Laurel Cottage, Dulwich, was let by the Old College authorities, sir,
to a Mr. Sanrack a month ago."

"What is he like, this Mr. Sanrack?"

"A tall, dark gentleman. Very handsome. Looks like an actor."

"Sanrack--Severac," mused Sheffield. "Daring! All right, Dawson, you can
go. You know where to wait."

Fifteen minutes later arrived M. Duquesne. He had been carpeted by his
chief for invoking the aid of the London police in the matter of the
telegram.

"Five methods occur to me instantly, stupid pig," the great Lemage had
said, "whereby you might have learnt its contents alone!"

Heavy with a sen