table returned, bearing under his arm a little black leather
envelope, and, depositing it on the desk of the Assistant Commissioner,
withdrew.

T. B. opened the envelope and removed three neat packages tied with red
tape. He unfastened one of these and laid three cards before him. They
were three photographic enlargements of a finger print. It did not need
the eye of an expert to see they were of the same finger, though it was
obvious that they had been made under different circumstances.

T. B. compared them with a smaller photograph he had taken from his
pocket. Yes, there was no doubt about it. The four pictures, secured by
a delicate process from the almost invisible print on the latest letter
of the blackmailer, proved beyond any doubt the identity of Lady Dex's
correspondent.

He rang the bell again and the constable appeared in the doorway.

"Is Mr. Ela in his office?"

"Yes, sir. He's been taking information about that Dock case."

"Dock case? Oh yes, I remember; two men were caught rifling the Customs
store; they shot a dock constable and got away."

"They both got away, sir," said the man, "but one was shot by the
constable's mate; they found his blood on the pavement outside where
their motor-car was waiting."

T. B. nodded.

"Ask Mr. Ela to come in when he is through," he said.

Mr. Ela was evidently "through," for almost immediately after the
message had gone, the long, melancholy face of the superintendent
appeared in the doorway.

"Come in, Ela," smiled T. B.; "tell me all your troubles."

"My main trouble," replied Ela, as he sank wearily into the padded
chair, "is to induce eyewitnesses to agree as to details; there is
absolutely no clue as to the identity of the robbers, and nearly
murderers. The number of the car was a spurious one, and was not traced
beyond Limehouse. I am up against a blank wall. The only fact I have to
go upon is the very certain fact that one of the robbers was either
wounded or killed and carried to the car by his friend, and that his
body will have to turn up somewhere or other--then we may have something
to go on."

"If it should prove to be that of my friend Montague Fallock," said T.
B. humorously, "I shall be greatly relieved. What were your thieves
after--bullion?"

"Hardly! No, they seem to be fairly prosaic pilferers. They engaged in
going through a few trunks--part of the personal baggage of the
_Mandavia_ which arrived from Coast ports on the day previ