I therefore left Dick sucking his foul briar, and, taking a motor-bus to Kensington, entered the police-station, which stands back hidden in a courtyard opposite St. Mary Abbot's Church. In the charge-room, with its bare, grey-painted walls, its steel-railed dock for prisoners, its loud-ticking clock, and its desk, whereon the oblong charge-book lay open, I found my old friend Inspector Patterson in earnest conversation with two men of the working class, who spoke with a strong Cockney accent and addressed him familiarly as "guv'nor." They were evidently policemen's noses, or, in criminal parlance, "narks." "Good evening, Mr. Urwin," the inspector exclaimed, putting forth his big hand. He was a tall, fair-moustached, easy-going fellow, an excellent officer, tender-hearted where the deserving poor was concerned, but harsh and unbending towards the habitual offender. From constable, as I had first known him in the T or Hammersmith Division, he had been moved to St. Luke's, to Paddington, to Leman Street and to Bow Street, until, owing to the marks which various magistrates had made upon his charge sheets, he had now at last risen to the rank of first-class inspector. He was discreet in his every action, therefore he did not refer to the telegram he had sent me lest any of the men should overhear, but when we had chatted for a few moments he whispered-- "Go over to the bar at High Street Railway Station and wait there for me. I want to see you very particularly." I nodded. Then, after some further conversation, I left him and wandered across to the refreshment room he had indicated. CHAPTER TWO. THE PENNY IN PAPER. About twenty minutes elapsed before Patterson rejoined me, but expressing a fear that we might be overheard there, we went forth together and strolled along High Street, until, coming to a quiet turning which, I think, led past the workhouse, we strolled along it, and there he commenced his explanation. "The fact is," he said in a nervous, hushed voice, "there's been a most extraordinary occurrence here to-night. The mystery is the strangest in all my experience, and I've made inquiries into one or two in my time, as you know." "Tell me all about it," I said, my curiosity whetted. "I wish I could, my dear fellow," he answered. "I mean, tell me all the known facts." "Nothing is known--save the discovery," he replied. "As soon as it became known I wired to you. When the papers get hold of it, it will make the greatest sensation ever known in London." "Well, that's saying a good deal," I remarked. "Who made the discovery?" "I did," he answered, adding quickly, "but don't mention me, or the superintendent may suspect me of giving you information. He already has a suspicion that I'm a bit too friendly with you gentlemen of the press. A contravention of the Commissioner's orders against giving information to the papers might get me carpeted up at the Yard, you know."