tangible to go upon. Let's begin at the end."

Opening the leather-bound note-book, Furneaux stood with his back to the
window. Winter, owing to his superior height, could look over the lesser
man's shoulder. Many an occult document affecting the famous crimes and
social or dynastic intrigues of the previous decade had these two
examined in that way, the main advantage of scrutiny in common being that
they could compare readings or suggested readings without loss of time,
and with the original manuscript before both pairs of eyes.

In the first instance, there were no dates--only scraps of sentences, or
comments. The concluding entry in the book was:

"A tactical error? Perhaps. Immovable."

Then, taking the order backward:

"Scout the very notion of such an infamy. You and every scandal-monger in
S. may do your worst."

"Free to confess that events have opened my eyes to the truth, so, not
for the first time, out of evil comes good."

"A prig."

"Visit for such a purpose a piece of unheard-of impudence."

These were all on one page.

"Quite clearly a _precis_ of Grant's remarks when Siddle called on
Monday," said Winter.

At any other time, Furneaux would have waxed sarcastic. Now he
merely nodded.

"Stops in a queer way," he muttered. "Not a word about the inquest or the
missing bottles."

The preceding page held even more disjointed entries, which,
nevertheless, provided a fair synopsis of Doris's spirited words on the
Sunday afternoon.

"Malice and ignorance."

"Patient because of years."

"Loyal comrade. Shall remain."

"Code."

"No difference in friendship."

"E. hopeless. Contempt."

"Skipping--good."

On the next page:

"Isidor G. Ingerman. Useful. Inquire."

"E.'s boasts? Nonsensical, surely!"

"Why has D. gone?"

Both men paused at that line.

"Detective?" suggested Winter.

"That's how I take it," agreed Furneaux.

Then came a sign: "+10%."

"Elkin's mixture was not 'as before.' It was fortified," grinned
Furneaux. "That's the exact increase of nicotine. By the way, I have
a sample. We can take care of him on that charge, without a shadow
of doubt."

Winter blew softly on the back of his friend's head.

"You're thorough, Charles, thorough!" he murmured. "It's a treat to work
with you when you get really busy."

Furneaux ran his thumb across the end of several leaves.

"I can tell you now," he said, "that there's nothing of real value in the
earlier notes. So fa