nger."

"Your silence in regard to Farrington I presume you are referring to,"
suggested T. B. Smith easily; "perhaps I can assist you a little to
unburden your mind."

"I think not," said Poltavo, quickly; "you cannot know as much about
this man as I. I had intended," he said, frankly, "to tell you much that
would have surprised you; at present it is advisable that I should wait
for one or two days in order that I may give some interested people an
opportunity of undoing a great deal of mischief which they have done. I
must go to Paris at once."

T. B. said nothing; there was no purpose to be served in hastening the
issue at this particular moment. The man had recovered his
self-possession, he would talk later, and T. B. was content to wait, and
for the moment to entertain his unexpected guest.

"It is a strange place," said the Count calmly, scrutinizing the room;
"this is Scotland Yard! The Great Scotland Yard! of which all criminals
stand in terror, even with which our local criminals in Poland have some
acquaintance."

"It is indeed a strange place," said T. B. "Shall I show you the
strangest place of all?"

"I should be delighted," said the other.

T. B. led the way along the corridor, rang for the lift, and they were
shot up to the third floor. Here at the end of a long passage, was a
large room, in which row after row of cabinets were methodically
arrayed.

"This is our record department," said T. B.; "it will have a special
interest for you, Count Poltavo."

"Why for me?" asked the other, with a smile.

"Because I take it you are interested in the study of criminal
detection," replied T. B. easily.

He walked aimlessly along one extensive row of drawers, and suddenly
came to a halt.

"Here, for instance, is a record of a remarkable man," he said. He
pulled open a drawer unerringly, ran his fingers along the top of a
batch of envelopes and selected one. He nodded the Count to a polished
table near the window, and pulled up two chairs.

"Sit down," he said, "and I will introduce you to one of the minor
masters of the criminal world."

Count Poltavo was an interested man as T. B. opened the envelope and
took out two plain folders, and laid them on the table.

He opened the first of these; the photograph of a military-looking man
in Russian uniform lay upon the top. Poltavo saw it, gasped, and looked
up, his face livid.

"That was the Military Governor of Poland," said T. B., easily; "he was