Osborne emerge; and at his heels were Bernstine and
his sandy-haired clerk.

When Osborne caught sight of Ashton-Kirk he expanded into a wide smile
of satisfaction.

"Hello!" greeted he. "Glad to see you. You're just in time to see me
turn a new trick. Here's the people that Spatola bought the bayonet
from. How does that strike you?"

But Bernstine leaned over and said something in a low tone; and the
smile instantly departed.

"Oh," said Osborne, ruefully, "_this_ is the party who called to see
you, is it?" Then turning to Ashton-Kirk he asked: "How did you get
onto this bayonet business?"

"Just through thinking it over a little, that's all," answered the
investigator.

Mr. Bernstine now approached the speaker, a hurt look upon his face.

"Mr. Ashton-Kirk," said he, "why did you not tell us about this piece
of business? Why did you not enlighten us? How _could_ you go away and
leave us in the dark? We are very much occupied, and have little time
to look at the newspapers. It was only by accident that Sime happened
to see one." Lowering his voice, he added: "There's a smart fellow for
you; he saw the whole thing in an instant. And so we came right here
to do what we can to help justice." He squared his shoulders
importantly.

"He's seen the bayonet and is prepared to swear to it," stated
Osborne, elated.

"What of the picture of Spatola in the paper?" asked the investigator.
"Does he recognize that?"

Osborne's face fell once more.

"These half-tones done through coarse screens are never any good,"
said he. "They'd make Gladstone look like Pontius Pilate. He's going
to have a look at the man himself, and that'll settle it."

With that a turnkey was dispatched; and in a few moments he returned,
accompanied by a half dozen prisoners; one was a slim, dark young man
with a nervous, expressive look, and a great tangle of curling black
hair. The face was haggard and drawn; the eyes were frightened; the
whole manner of the man had a piteous appeal.

Osborne turned to Sime.

"Look them over carefully," directed he. "Take your time."

"I don't need to," answered the freckled shipping clerk. He pointed to
the dark young man. "That's the man of the picture; but I never seen
him before, anywhere."

Osborne put his fingers under his collar and pulled as though to
breathe more freely; then he motioned another attendant to take the
remaining prisoners away.

"I see," said he. "He was too foxy to buy the thing