mpty case--possibly
completely forgetting its existence for the moment. How does that strike
you--as a theory?"

"Very good, sir," replied the superintendent. "Very good--but it is only
a theory, you know, Mr. Brereton."

Brereton rose, with another laugh.

"Just so," he said. "But suppose you try to reduce it to practice? In
this way--you no doubt have tradesmen in this town who deal in such
things as electric torches. Find out--in absolute secrecy--if any of
them have sold electric torches of late to any one in the town, and if
so, to whom. For I'm certain of this--that pocket-book and its contents
was examined on the spot, and that examination could only have been made
with a light, and an electric torch would be the handiest means of
providing that light. And so--so you see how even a little clue like
that might help, eh?"

"I'll see to it," assented the superintendent. "Well, it's all very
queer, sir, and I'm getting more than ever convinced that we've laid
hands on the wrong man. And yet--what could, and what can we do?"

"Oh, nothing, at present," replied Brereton. "Let matters develop.
They're only beginning."

He went away then, not to think about the last subject of conversation,
but to take out his own pocket-book as soon as he was clear of the
police-station, and to write down that entry which he had seen in
Kitely's memoranda:--_M. & C. v. S. B. cir. 81_. And again he was struck
by the fact that the initials were those of Mallalieu and Cotherstone,
and again he wondered what they meant. They might have no reference
whatever to the Mayor and his partner--but under the circumstances it
was at any rate a curious coincidence, and he had an overwhelming
intuition that something lay behind that entry. But--what?

That evening, as Bent and his guest were lighting their cigars after
dinner, Bent's parlour-maid came into the smoking-room with a card. Bent
glanced from it to Brereton with a look of surprise.

"Mr. Christopher Pett!" he exclaimed. "What on earth does he want me
for? Bring Mr. Pett in here, anyway," he continued, turning to the
parlour-maid. "Is he alone?--or is Miss Pett with him?"

"The police-superintendent's with him, sir," answered the girl. "They
said--could they see you and Mr. Brereton for half an hour, on
business?"

"Bring them both in, then," said Bent. He looked at Brereton again, with
more interrogation. "Fresh stuff, eh?" he went on. "Mr. Christopher
Pett's the old dragon's n