eeps his plunder on him for a single second
longer than necessary. But with Foyle on the car it was too expensive to
operate, especially single-handed. Therefore, Fred felt the world a
dreary place.

He had boarded the car alone and without thought of plunder. Had it been
in professional hours, he would have had at least one "stall"--perhaps
two--with him. As chance would have it, a portly business man, with a
massive gold chain spanning his ample waist, had seated himself next the
operator. And Fred had decided that the watch on the end of the cable
was worth risking an experiment upon. Besides, the appearance of
prosperity of the "mug" spoke of a possible "leather" stuffed with
banknotes. Decidedly, even in the absence of a "stall," it was worth
chancing. And then Foyle got on and spoilt it all. If any one on the
tramcar lost anything he would know who to blame.

For Heldon Foyle had spoiled one of the greatest coups that ever a crook
had been on the verge of bringing off. Fred, immaculately clad, and with
irreproachable references, had approached Greenfields, the Bond Street
jewellers, with a formula for manufacturing gold. He had discovered the
philosopher's stone. "Of course, I don't want you to go into this until
I've proved that it can actually be done," he said airily. "See there. I
made that handful of gold-dust myself. You test it, and see that it's
all right. Now, I'll sell you the secret of making that for L100,000. I
don't want the money till I've given you a demonstration."

So an arrangement was fixed up. The jewellers, with a faith that long
experience had not destroyed, believed in Fred. Nevertheless, they took
the precaution of calling in Foyle, then unknown to Fred save by name.
In a little room in Clerkenwell the experiment took place. With
ingenious candour, Fred prepared a crucible in front of his select
audience after the various ingredients had been submitted to strict
examination. Then he placed it on the fire, and stirred the contents
occasionally. At last the process was finished, and at the bottom of the
crucible was found a teaspoonful of undoubted gold-dust. Then, while
Fred, with a broad smile of satisfaction, awaited comment, the
detective, who had noted the strange fact that he had kept his gloves on
while stirring the crucible, stepped up to him and deftly whipped one
off. In the fingers were traces of gold-dust--enough to convict Fred
and get him three years at the Old Bailey.

Out