* * * * * That evening Crossley the detective was enjoying his pipe over a snug fire in his little house near Clapham Common. He had gone through a day of hard work, and was just in the humour to appreciate some well-earned rest, when his servant opened the door and announced a visitor. The next moment Short stood before him. “Here I am,” said that worthy. “I got your cipher by the first post this morning and managed everything first rate. The house is full and will be still fuller, so I must take the first train back. And now what do you want of me?” “Sit down, Jacob,” said Crossley; “if you are in a hurry I am more than willing to go to business at once. You seem, to judge by your letter, to be managing all right down in those parts.” “Yes, I am making discoveries,” said Jacob; “and some which I fancy will surprise you. These I keep to myself for the present. The discoveries which relate to the special business which keeps me at Rowton Heights, I, of course, disclose to you.” “Why not all your discoveries?” said Crossley. “Because some are not ripe for disclosure at the present moment,” answered Jacob, in a terse voice. “The fact is this, a clue is a delicate matter—a clue seems to me to be often a sort of intangible thing. If you speak of it, it vanishes under your grip. But I repeat that things look well, and that I am doing good work.” “Glad to hear it,” said Crossley, “the part of your work which concerns me is what I am naturally anxious to hear about. You know what you went to Rowton Heights for?” “Rather,” said Jacob—“to get hold of the man who murdered young Mr. Follett.” “Yes, we must nab him soon, I fancy.” “He requires careful handling,” said Jacob. “Your clue to him at the present moment is a piece of paper with a certain cipher and a certain hieroglyphic upon it—the man himself being marked in a peculiar way.” “Precisely,” said the detective, removing the pipe from his mouth, and looking hard into Jacob’s eyes. “You arrested a man lately who belonged to the Silver Mob,” continued Jacob. “On examining his papers you found a letter, or part of a letter written in the same cipher, and signed with the same hieroglyphics.” “I did, I did. What is the good of going into that over again?” “I want to get it firm in my mind,” continued Jacob. “You sent me to Rowton Heights because your suspicions pointed to one man.” “Good Heavens! yes,” said Crossley, jumping up as he spoke. “It is ridiculous for a man like me to feel anything, but you don’t know, Short, what I have suffered on account of these suspicions. The young lady wants to go on with this matter and yet——”