the following advertisement,
prepaid in cash, and insert it here by reason of the great interest
which we feel sure it will possess for our readers:

"'On Behalf of the Poor Ones of the Embankment, I thank the
following philanthropists for their generous donations:"

_(Here followed a list of those guests of Mrs. Rohscheimer's who
had been victimised upon the previous night, headed with the name
of Julius Rohscheimer himself; and beside each name appeared an
amount representing the value of the article, or articles,
appropriated.)_

"'They may rest assured that not one halfpenny has been deducted
for working expenses. In fact, when the donations come to be
realised the Operative may be the loser. But no matter. "Expend
your money in pious uses, either voluntarily or by constraint."

"'(Signed) Severac Bablon.'"

The paper was passed around in silence.

"That fellow seemed to know a lot about it!" said someone.

None of the men replied; but each looked at the other strangely--and
wondered.

CHAPTER III

MIDNIGHT--AND THE MAN

The next two days were busy ones for Sheard, who, from a variety of
causes--the chief being his intimacy with the little circle which,
whether it would or not, gathered around Mr. Julius Rohscheimer--found
himself involved in the mystery of Severac Bablon. He had interviewed
this man and that, endeavouring to obtain some coherent story of the
great "hold up," but with little success. Everything was a mysterious
maze, and Scotland Yard was without any clue that might lead to the
solution. All the Fleet Street crime specialists had advanced theories,
and now, on the night of the third day after the audacious robbery,
Sheard was contributing his theory to the Sunday newspaper for which he
worked.

The subject of his article was the identity of Severac Bablon, whom
Sheard was endeavouring to prove to be not an individual, but a society;
a society, so he argued, formed for the immolation of Capital upon the
altars of Demos.

The course of reasoning that he had taken up proved more elusive than he
had anticipated.

His bundle of notes lay before him on the table. The news of the latest
outrage, the burning of the great Runek Mills in Ontario, had served to
convince him that his solution was the right one; yet he could make no
headway, and the labours of the last day or so had left him tired and
drowsy.

He le