t, advanced to the long slate table, and bent over its
burden of pitiful tragedy. For some time he remained motionless, running
his eye gravely over the corpse, in search, no doubt, of bruises and
indications of a struggle. Then he stooped and narrowly examined the
wound, especially at its commencement and end. Suddenly he drew nearer,
peering intently as if something had attracted his attention, and having
taken out his lens, fetched a small sponge, with which he dried an
exposed process of the spine. Holding his lens before the dried spot, he
again scrutinized it closely, and then, with a scalpel and forceps,
detached some object, which he carefully washed, and then once more
examined through his lens as it lay in the palm of his hand. Finally, as
I expected, he brought forth his "collecting-box," took from it a
seed-envelope, into which he dropped the object--evidently something
quite small--closed up the envelope, wrote on the outside of it, and
replaced it in the box.

"I think I have seen all that I wanted to see," he said, as he pocketed
the box and took up his hat. "We shall meet to-morrow morning at the
inquest." He shook hands with Hart, and we went out into the relatively
pure air.

On one pretext or another, Thorndyke lingered about the neighbourhood of
Aldgate until a church bell struck six, when he bent his steps towards
Harrow Alley. Through the narrow, winding passage he walked, slowly and
with a thoughtful mien, along Little Somerset Street and out into
Mansell Street, until just on the stroke of a quarter-past we found
ourselves opposite the little tobacconist's shop.

Thorndyke glanced at his watch and halted, looking keenly up the street.
A moment later he hastily took from his pocket the cardboard box, from
which he extracted the two mounted photographs which had puzzled me so
much. They now seemed to puzzle Thorndyke equally, to judge by his
expression, for he held them close to his eyes, scrutinizing them with
an anxious frown, and backing by degrees into the doorway at the side of
the tobacconist's. At this moment I became aware of a man who, as he
approached, seemed to eye my friend with some curiosity and more
disfavour; a very short, burly young man, apparently a foreign Jew,
whose face, naturally sinister and unprepossessing, was further
disfigured by the marks of smallpox.

"Excuse me," he said brusquely, pushing past Thorndyke; "I live here."

"I am sorry," responded Thorndyke. He move