e of Cairos and gave the man the office, as you told
me. He handed it over like a lamb, and I walked out with it, straight
to that little cafe across the way. I had four of the boys waiting
there, and my entrance was a signal to them to beat it over and buy
enough tobacco to keep the shopkeeper busy while I made a getaway from
the dairy-lunch place. I only went three doors down, to a barber's,
and while I was waiting my turn there I watched the street from behind
a newspaper.

"In about ten minutes Paddington came along, walking as if he was in
quite a hurry. He went into the tobacconist's, but he came out quicker
than he had entered, and his face was a study--purple with rage one
minute, and white with fear the next. I don't believe he knows yet
who's tailing him, sir, but he looks as if he realized we had him
coming and going. He went straight over to the little restaurant, with
murder in his eye, but he only stayed a minute or two. I tailed him
home to his rooms, and he stamped along at first as if he was so mad
he didn't care whether he was followed or not. When he got near his
own street, though, he got cautious again, and I had all I could do to
keep him from catching me on his trail--he's a sharp one, when he
wants to be, and he's on his mettle now."

"I know the breed. He'll turn and fight like any other rat if he's
cornered, but meanwhile he'll try at any cost to get away from us,"
Blaine responded. "You have him well covered, Ross?"

"Thorpe is waiting in a high-powered car a few doors away, Vanner in a
taxi, and Daly is on the job until I get back. He won't take a step
to-day without being tailed," the operative answered, confidently.
"Here's the cigarette box, sir. I opened it as soon as I got in the
restaurant, to see if it was the real goods and not a plant, as you
instructed. It's the straight tip, all right. There were no cigarettes
inside, only this single sheet of paper covered with little
marks--looks like music, only it isn't. I don't know much about
sight-reading, but some of those figures couldn't be played on any
instrument!"

Henry Blaine opened the little box and drew from it the bit of folded
paper, which he spread out upon the desk before him. A glance was
sufficient to show him that it was another cryptic message, similar to
that which Guy Morrow had found in the Brunells' deserted cottage, and
which he had vainly studied until far into the night.

"Very good, Ross. Get back on the job,