When once the door of the sawmill had been opened, and the janitor removed without noise, the fate of the Alpha Triangle hung by a hair. In spite of the telephone call which told the men in the building that their heavily armoured bag had lost its cat, they could not forecast the minute in which the information so gained would be acted upon. The future of the organisation was suspended by that slender thread; our hope of being in amongst them, raising Hell, before they could collect their wits. You already know how that thread was snapped. Whatever a man's genius, he cannot dream of terrorising a city--as the Apex intends to do--without a large number of assistants. With his young army of helpers locked away, he would have been crippled--perhaps irretrievably. However, we failed--so that's that. Anyway, all we made was an attempt to maim, when our object is to kill. One or two details stand over. (1) Besides myself, two others got into the sawmill. One was Miss Hawthorne, secretary to the late Lord Hannassay, who went simply in search of adventure. The second was Joseph Blaythwayt, manager of the City and Continental Bank, Lombard Street, who in his spare time aspires to sleuthship. He is a friend of Inspector Teal, from whom he had heard unpublished facts about the Triangle which (on his own account) fired him with thoughts of honour and glory as an amateur Sherlock. He is also one of the lives threatened by the Triangle, which fact does not perturb him unduly. (2) In my opinion, the telephone call which followed our departure came by chance, and was not based on knowledge of any of our plans. (3) Raegenssen's office was burgled last night, and the safe opened, but I don't know if the men found anything. A lot of attention has centred round Raegenssen lately, so I expect his obituary notice is only a matter of days. The Billingsgate raid having failed, I am basing my next move on the Era advertisement. It will, of course, be risky; but if anything goes wrong you will know what to do.