bly asked for my credentials. When I proclaimed that I had
been chief detective to the Republic of France, I could see that this
announcement made a serious impression, but when I added that the
Government of France had dismissed me without credentials,
recommendation, or pension, official sympathy with officialism at once
turned the tables against me. And here I may be pardoned for pointing
out another portentous dissimilarity between the two lands which I
think is not at all to the credit of my countrymen.

I was summarily dismissed. You may say it was because I failed, and it
is true that in the case of the Queen's necklace I had undoubtedly
failed, but, on the other hand, I had followed unerringly the clue
which lay in my path, and although the conclusion was not in
accordance with the facts, it was in accordance with logic. No, I was
not dismissed because I failed. I had failed on various occasions
before, as might happen to any man in any profession. I was dismissed
because I made France for the moment the laughing-stock of Europe and
America. France dismissed me because France had been laughed at. No
Frenchman can endure the turning of a joke against him, but the
Englishman does not appear to care in the least. So far as failure is
concerned, never had any man failed so egregiously as I did with
Felini, a slippery criminal who possessed all the bravery of a
Frenchman and all the subtlety of an Italian. Three times he was in my
hands--twice in Paris, once in Marseilles--and each time he escaped
me; yet I was not dismissed.

When I say that Signor Felini was as brave as a Frenchman, perhaps I
do him a little more than justice. He was desperately afraid of one
man, and that man was myself. Our last interview in France he is not
likely to forget, and although he eluded me, he took good care to get
into England as fast as train and boat could carry him, and never
again, while I was at the head of the French detective force, did he
set foot on French soil. He was an educated villain, a graduate of the
University of Turin, who spoke Spanish, French, and English as well as
his own language, and this education made him all the more dangerous
when he turned his talents to crime.

Now, I knew Felini's handiwork, either in murder or in housebreaking,
as well as I know my own signature on a piece of white paper, and as
soon as I saw the body of the murdered man in Greenwich Park I was
certain Felini was the murderer. The E