"And there, by the Grace of the Devil," he muttered, "goes a man who knows far, far more about the Triangle than I shall ever find out." "I've also cancelled the warrant that's out against Raegenssen," Storm said. "I don't think any charge will stand against him, either, yet. It's easy to prove that the signature to that deed isn't his, and there's no chance of tracing those foreign bills. You won't even get him by identification--nor will you get Mattock, for the matter of that. Neither of 'em fit exactly." He was tapping a cigarette on his case when the telephone rang, and he was told that the call was for him. When he came back, the light of war was in his eyes. "Now we shall see some more battle, murder and sudden death!" he said. "That was to say Mecklen's better. I'm going to get him to court to-morrow, if there's a whole army of Triangles in the way! And then we'll see if he'll squeak." "He isn't the Triangle, anyway," said Teal gloomily. "Is it Mattock?" Storm did not answer. "Or is it Uncle Joe?" Storm was intent upon the feat of throwing his cigarette high in the air and catching it between his lips--a piece of amateur juggling which he performed with skill. "Then it must be Raegenssen," Teal said dreamily. "Keep on guessing," Storm encouraged. Mr. Teal shook his head and nipped the end from a rank cigar. "You're so close, you'd make an oyster look like a yawning whale," he protested in despair. "Now, why let Mattock out? I'll bet that man knows all the things we want to know about Alphas and Apexes." "Speak for yourself," murmured Storm, concluding his exhibition of sleight-of-hand by throwing his cigarette over his shoulder from the back and trapping it faultlessly. Teal did not applaud. "He must have had something exciting to tell you," he pondered aloud. "Was it absolutely necessary to release him?" Storm, who was striking a match, watched it flare, and then looked up with his quick smile. "Oh--sure!" he drawled. "He's going to kill Raegenssen!" CHAPTER XV ONCE A GENTLEMAN Storm being an unconventional young man, it was not to be expected that the private report on the Battle of Billingsgate which he sent to Sir John Marker would be strictly in accord with conventional ideas on the correct composition of such documents. Kit Arden had no manner of use for formulas; jargon made him feel ill; in the presence of the bugaboo of official phraseology he positively writhed. He banged out his points with crisp simplicity, and framed them in sentences like bullets. The letter is worth quoting _in extenso_, for reasons which will be apparent at sight.