opping his forehead with a bandanna
handkerchief which he drew from the tail of his coat. "I am thankful to
have got these things here in--I devoutly trust!--safety. Specimens?
Well, not exactly; though, to be sure, they may be specimens of--I don't
quite know what villainy yet. Objects?--certainly! Perhaps, my dear
Professor, you will come and look at them."

The Professor slowly lifted his six feet of muscle and sinew out of his
chair, picked up a briar pipe which lay on his desk, puffed a great
cloud of smoke out of it, and lounged weightily across the room to his
visitor.

"Something alive?" he asked laconically. "Likely to bite?"

"Er--no!" replied Mr. Tertius. "No--they won't bite. The fact is," he
went on, gingerly opening the bag, "this--er--this, or these are they."

Professor Cox-Raythwaite bent his massive head and shoulders over the
little bag and peered narrowly into its obscurity. Then he started.

"Good Lord!" he exclaimed. "A glass tumbler! And--is it a sandwich? Why,
what on earth----"

He made as if to pull the glass out of the bag, and Mr. Tertius hastily
seized the great hand in an agony of apprehension.

"My dear Cox-Raythwaite!" he said. "Pray don't! Allow me--presently.
When either of these objects is touched it must be in the most, quite
the most, delicate fashion. Of course, I know you have a fairy-like
gentleness of touch--but don't touch these things yet. Let me explain.
Shall we--suppose we sit down. Give me--yes--give me one of your
cigars."

The Professor, plainly mystified, silently pointed to a cigar box which
stood on a corner of his desk, and took another look into the bag.

"A sandwich--and a glass!" he murmured reflectively. "Um! Well?" he
continued, going back to his chair and dropping heavily into it. "And
what's it all about, Tertius? Some mystery, eh?"

Mr. Tertius drew a whiff or two of fragrant Havana before he replied.
Then he too dropped into a chair and pulled it close to his friend's
desk.

"My dear Professor!" he said, in a low, thrilling voice, suggestive of
vast importance, "I don't know whether the secret of one of the most
astounding crimes of our day may not lie in that innocent-looking
bag--or, rather, in its present contents. Fact! But I'll tell you--you
must listen with your usual meticulous care for small details. The truth
is--Jacob Herapath has, I am sure, been murdered!"

"Murdered!" exclaimed the Professor. "Herapath? Murder--eh? Now then,
slow a