planation. They had simply presented themselves, armed with
invitations, singly and in small parties, whilst dancing was in
progress, and in a house open to such mixed society had been admitted
without arousing suspicion. There was little that was obscure or
inexplicable in the coup; it was an amazing display of _force majeure_,
an act of stark audacity. It pointed to the existence in London of a
hitherto unsuspected genius. Such was Sheard's opinion.

From an American guest, who had kept perfectly cool during the
"hold-up," and had quietly taken stock of the robbers, he learnt that,
exclusive of the spokesman, they numbered exactly thirty; were much of a
similar build, being well-set-up men of military bearing; and, most
extraordinary circumstance, were facially all alike!

"Gee! but it's a fact!" declared his informant. "They all had moderate
fair hair, worn short and parted left-centre, neat blonde moustaches,
and fresh complexions, and the whole thirty were like as beans!"

Two other interesting facts Sheard elicited from Adeler, who wore a
white bandage about his damaged skull. The whole of the guests
victimised were compatriots of their host.

"It is from those who are of my nation that they have taken all their
booty," he said, smiling. "This daring robber has evidently strong
racial prejudices! Then, each of the victims had received, during the
past month threatening letters demanding money for various charities.
These letters did not emanate from the institutions named, but were
anonymous appeals. The point seems worth notice."

And so, armed with the usual police assurance that several sensational
arrests might be expected in the morning, Sheard departed with this
enthralling copy hot for the machines that had been stopped to take it.

When, thoroughly tired, he again quitted the _Gleaner_ office, it was to
direct his weary footsteps towards the Embankment and the all-night car
that should bear him home.

Crossing Tallis Street, he became aware of a confused murmur proceeding
from somewhere ahead, and as he approached nearer to the river this took
definite form and proclaimed itself a chaotic chorus of human voices.

As he came out on to the Embankment an extraordinary scene presented
itself.

Directly in his path stood a ragged object--a piece of social flotsam--a
unit of London's misery. This poor filthy fellow was singing at the top
of his voice, a music-hall song upon that fertile topic, "the girl