had passed I knew that Ambler was in his
confidence. The nature of this I had several times tried to fathom.

His unexpected death appeared to have upset all Ambler's plans. He
grunted and took a tour round the poorly-furnished chamber.

"Look here!" he said, halting in front of me. "There's been foul play
here. We must lose no time in calling the police--not that they are
likely to discover the truth."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because the poor fellow has been the victim of a secret assassin."

"Then you suspect a motive?"

"I believe that there is a motive why his lips should be closed--a
strange and remote one." Then, turning to the old fellow who had been
the dead man's friend, he asked: "Do you know anyone by the name of
Slade?"

"Slade?" repeated the croaking old fellow. "Slade? No, sir. I don't
recollect anyone of that name. Is it a man or a woman?"

"Either."

"No, sir."

"Do you know if Lanky Lane ever had visitors here--I mean visitors not
of his own class?"

"I never 'eard of none. Lanky wasn't the sort o' chap to trouble about
callers. He used to spend 'is nights in the Three Nuns wiv us; but
he'd sit 'ours over two o' gin. 'E saved 'is money, 'e did."

"But look here," exclaimed Ambler, seriously. "Are you quite certain
that you've never seen him with any stranger at nights?"

"Never to my knowledge."

"Well," my companion said, "you'd better go and call the police."

When the old fellow had shuffled away down the rickety stairs, Ambler,
turning to me, said abruptly:

"That fellow is lying; he knows something about this affair."

I had taken up the empty dram bottle and smelt it. The spirit it had
contained was rum--which had evidently been drunk from the bottle, as
there was no glass near. A slight quantity remained, and this I placed
aside for analysis if necessary.

"I can't see what this poor fellow has to do with the inquiry upon
which we are engaged, Ambler," I remarked. "I do wish you'd be more
explicit. Mystery seems to heap upon mystery."

"Yes. You're right," he said reflectively. "Slowly--very slowly, I am
working out the problem, Ralph. It has been a long and difficult
matter; but by degrees I seem to be drawing towards a conclusion.
This," and he pointed to the man lying dead, "is another of London's
many mysteries, but it carries us one step further."

"I can't, for the life of me, see what connection the death of this
poor street hawker has with the strange events of