ormation, to
discover, for example, the reason why a district officer in some
far-away spot in India had been obliged to return to England before his
tour of duty had ended.

His thirst for facts was insatiable; his grasp of the politics of every
country in the world, and his extraordinarily accurate information
concerning the personality of all those who directed those policies, was
the basis upon which he was able to build up theories of amazing
accuracy.

A man of simple tastes, who lived in a rambling old house in Streatham,
his work, his hobby, and his very life was his bureau. He had assisted
the police times without number, and had been so fascinated by the
success of this branch of his investigations that he had started a new
criminal record, which had been of the greatest help to the police and
had piqued Scotland Yard to emulation.

John Minute, descending from his cab at the door, looked up at the
imposing facia with a frown. Entering the broad vestibule, he handed his
card to the waiting attendant and took a seat in a well-furnished
waiting room. Five minutes later he was ushered into the presence of
"The Man Who Knew." Mr. Mann, a comical little figure at a very large
writing table, jumped up and went halfway across the big room to meet
his visitor. He beamed through his big spectacles as he waved John
Minute to a deep armchair.

"The chief commissioner sent you, didn't he?" he said, pointing an
accusing finger at the visitor. "I know he did, because he called me up
this morning and asked me about three people who, I happen to know, have
been bothering you. Now what can I do for you, Mr. Minute?"

John Minute stretched his legs and thrust his hands defiantly into his
trousers' pockets.

"You can tell me all you know about me," he said.

Saul Arthur Mann trotted back to his big table and seated himself.

"I haven't time to tell you as much," he said breezily, "but I'll give
you a few outlines."

He pressed a bell at his desk, opened a big index, and ran his finger
down.

"Bring me 8874," he said impressively to the clerk who made his
appearance.

To John Minute's surprise, it was not a bulky dossier with which the
attendant returned, but a neat little book soberly bound in gray.

"Now," said Mr. Mann, wriggling himself comfortably back in his chair,
"I will read a few things to you."

He held up the book.

"There are no names in this book, my friend; not a single, blessed
name. Nobody kno