newspaper and began reading it casually. Just before reaching my
station, I came across a small item on one of the inside pages. It
stated that a small, bearded man, wearing a checkered suit, had been
found in the river that morning, stabbed. There were no identification
papers on him, only a pocket full of subway tokens which, police
believed, had been used to weight down the body.

"Good heavens!" I said aloud. Several passengers raised their eyebrows.
I flushed, hurried out of the train and to my apartment where I fell
into my chair, shocked and shaking. No doubt the body was that of
Rumplestein. The poor little man! What did this mean? Could his story
conceivably have been true?

The knock on my door startled me. "Professor, are you home?" It was my
landlady. When I opened the door she handed me an envelope with my name
written on it in small, neat letters. "A little fellow with a beard gave
it to me early this morning, after you'd gone. He said to be sure you
got it. Then he ran away." She shook her head in obvious disapproval of
such actions.

After she left I tore open the envelope and read the contents.

"By the time you see this chances are excellent that I shall be dead.
However, that is of little importance. I have found the proof we
need--their distribution plant. It's an old warehouse. I am going there
to see if I cannot obtain concrete proof--perhaps a pocketful of tokens.
If I fail, you must carry on. Farewell, professor. It was a privilege
knowing you."

Beneath the message was an address which I recognized as being in one of
the less reputable sections of the city. There was no signature.

What to do! What to do! I no longer doubted the truth of little Mr.
Rumplestein-O'Grady's story. But what to do about it? I considered going
to the warehouse, but the thought of high adventure sends nothing but
ennui coursing through my veins. Besides, there was undoubtedly some
element of danger in that course. The police! Naturally! They would know
how to deal with this situation and perhaps even avenge poor Mr.
Rumplestein's death. Filled with righteous anger and indignation I
hurried out and went to the nearest police station.

In retrospect I can understand the reaction of the desk sergeant to my
wild-eyed claim that the city was in imminent danger of invasion and he
must do something about it at once!

"How much, now, have ye had to drink?" he asked calmly.

When I swore that I was as sober as he, he