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And what time did you arrive at the Gare St. Lazare?

The Savoy commissionaire called it.

Mr. Georges La Touche was commonly regarded as the smartest private detective in London. Brought up in that city, where his father kept a small foreign book store, he learned till he was twelve the English language and ideas. Then, on the death of his English mother, the family moved to Paris, and Georges had to adjust himself to a new environment. At twenty, he entered Cooks office as a courier, and, learning successively Italian, German, and Spanish, he gradually acquired a first-hand acquaintanceship with Middle and South-Western Europe. After some ten years of this work he grew tired of the constant travelling, and, coming to London, he offered his services to a firm of well-known private detectives. Here he did so well that, on the death of the founder some fifteen years later, he stepped into his place. He soon began to specialise in foreign or international cases, for which his early training peculiarly fitted him.

About an hour later, say half-past two.

Theres where it is, began Broughton, pointing down, and then suddenly stopped.

Why, no, monsieur, he said, it would have been absolutely impossible. I myself looked in every spot and opened everything large enough to contain it.

La Touche hardly felt a proper appreciation of the clerks promptness, but he thanked him politely and said he would return later. Then, with a final glance at an averted head of dark, luxuriant hair, he left the office.

Any clue? he asked, in a choking tone. Have you any clue to the villain who has done this?

M. Chauvet, Chef de la S?ret, was a small, elderly man with a dark, pointed beard, gold-rimmed glasses, and an exceedingly polite manner.

He held out his lens, and indicated the part of the floor he had been scrutinising.

Come on, Mallet, La Touche called. Dont waste time. We must get out of this.

Traced parties as far as north end of Leman Street. Trail lost there.

And what did he tell you?