the principal thoroughfares and
suburbs of London, with the sub-directions "for identifying
foot-tracks." There were several other jars, labeled "Fluff from
Omnibus and Road Car Seats," "Cocoanut Fibre and Rope Strands from
Mattings in Public Places," "Cigarette Stumps and Match Ends from Floor
of Palace Theatre, Row A, 1 to 50." Everywhere were evidences of this
wonderful man's system and perspicacity.

I was thus engaged when I heard the slight creaking of a door, and I
looked up as a stranger entered. He was a rough-looking man, with a
shabby overcoat and a still more disreputable muffler around his throat
and the lower part of his face. Considerably annoyed at his intrusion,
I turned upon him rather sharply, when, with a mumbled, growling
apology for mistaking the room, he shuffled out again and closed the
door. I followed him quickly to the landing and saw that he
disappeared down the stairs. With my mind full of the robbery, the
incident made a singular impression upon me. I knew my friend's habit
of hasty absences from his room in his moments of deep inspiration; it
was only too probable that, with his powerful intellect and magnificent
perceptive genius concentrated on one subject, he should be careless of
his own belongings, and no doubt even forget to take the ordinary
precaution of locking up his drawers. I tried one or two and found
that I was right, although for some reason I was unable to open one to
its fullest extent. The handles were sticky, as if some one had opened
them with dirty fingers. Knowing Hemlock's fastidious cleanliness, I
resolved to inform him of this circumstance, but I forgot it, alas!
until--but I am anticipating my story.

His absence was strangely prolonged. I at last seated myself by the
fire, and lulled by warmth and the patter of the rain on the window, I
fell asleep. I may have dreamt, for during my sleep I had a vague
semi-consciousness as of hands being softly pressed on my pockets--no
doubt induced by the story of the robbery. When I came fully to my
senses, I found Hemlock Jones sitting on the other side of the hearth,
his deeply concentrated gaze fixed on the fire.

"I found you so comfortably asleep that I could not bear to awaken
you," he said, with a smile.

I rubbed my eyes. "And what news?" I asked. "How have you succeeded?"

"Better than I expected," he said, "and I think," he added, tapping his
note-book, "I owe much to YOU."

Deeply gratified, I