For answer, Teal pointed to the cellarette, and Storm went over and opened the small parcel which lay there. He took a glance at the hypodermic syringe it contained, and the two phials packed into the metal syringe-case, and slipped the box into his pocket. He carried writing materials over to the breakfast table and wrote while he made his meal. When he had finished there were five closely written pages which he checked over carefully and then sealed into an envelope, scribbling his initials on the flap. He gave the package to Bill Kennedy. "I put you on your honour not to open this unless I fail to report at the Yard by midnight," he said. "It gives you the identity of the Triangle and a string of substantial evidence against him--enough to hang an army! If I don't turn up you'll know what to do. Secondly, I'll bet you've had men put on to guard me after last night?" "Yes." Bill nodded. "Take 'em off right now! Bill, I guarantee that if I see anyone that looks like a nursemaid in trousers tailing me around when I leave here I'll wring his neck! I _want_ the Triangle to catch me--that's the only chance I've got left of cleaning up this mess outside of the Old Bailey. You put that right up inside the big bone you wear under your hat, and let it dig itself in!" Even as he spoke Storm was stripping off his coat and shirt, and they had a chance to view his magnificent torso. The muscle just lay on him in slabs, writhing and cording under the satiny skin with every movement he made. He was ribbed out and sinewed up like a thoroughbred racehorse--he might have served as a model for a statue of Apollo, with his perfectly proportioned, splendidly supple and yet immensely powerful development. Storm was always trained to a hair; and, at that moment, as he stretched and limbered up, he looked fit to fight for a kingdom ... whereas he was going to fight for something which, to him, meant more than all the cities of the world and their glory---- He disappeared into his bedroom and returned a minute later with a heavy bundle in his arms. Against each bicep, by means of straps fastened above and below the muscle, he fixed neat leather holsters which carried compact small-calibre automatics. Against his right calf he laid a small thin razor-sharp poignard which was held in place by his sock and sock suspender. Thus secretly armed, he pulled over his head a jerkin of pliant deerskin which laced up to the collar-bone; and over this he put on a singlet of the finest steel mesh. Kennedy and Teal observed all these accoutrements with unconcealed interest, and Storm smiled. "Courage gets medals," he remarked as he resumed his shirt, "but people who sail into typhoons without taking in canvas, battening all hatches, and rigging life-lines, just get what they deserve--and that's Hell!"