I
got it from Hammerstein. You know his place in the Seven Dials, no
doubt. A very useful man. I get most of my human osteology from him.' I
fetched my receipt file and turned over the papers in leisurely fashion
while he gnawed his lips with impatience. At last I found the receipted
invoice and he read it aloud with a ludicrous expression of
disappointment.

"'Complete set superfine human osteology strongly articulated with best
brass wire and screw-bolts, with springs to mandible and stout iron
supporting rod. All bones guaranteed to be derived from the same
subject. L5.3.4.'

"The invoice was headed, 'Oscar Hammerstein, Dealer in Osteology, Great
St. Andrew Street, London, W.C.,' and was dated 4th February, 1891.

"The detective entered the name and address in a black-bound note-book
of official aspect, compared the date with that on Cousin Bill's
pedestal and prepared to depart.

"'There is one thing I must point out to you,' I said, anticipating an
early visit on my friend's part to Mr. Hammerstein; 'the skeletons as
you get them from the dealers are not always up to museum style in point
of finish. They are often of a bad color and may be stained with grease.
If they are, you will have to disarticulate them, clean them with
benzol and, if necessary, remacerate and bleach; but whatever you do,' I
concluded solemnly, 'be careful with the chlorinated soda or you will
spoil the appearance of the bones and make them brittle. Good bye!' I
shook his hand effusively and he took his departure very glum and
crestfallen.

"As long as he had been with me, something of the old buoyant spirit of
playfulness--that was my ordinary mood until my great trouble
befell--had been revived by the absurdity of the situation. But his
departure left me rather depressed, for his visit marked the final
collapse of my scheme. Even if the criminal classes had been willing to
continue the supply of anthropological material, my methods could not
have been carried out under the watchful and disapproving eyes of the
police.

"What then was to be done? This was the question that I asked myself
again and again. As to abandoning my activities, of course, such an idea
never occurred to me. I remained alive for a definite purpose: to search
for the man who had murdered my wife and to exact from him payment of
his debt. Of this purpose, the collection had been, at first, a mere
by-product; and though it was gradually taking such hold of me as to