"Nothing," said Mr. Teal sleepily. "The process of reformation continues. I looked up Lew Mecklen and Gat Morini this morning, and they greeted me like a long-lost brother--which isn't like Lew and the gentle Gat. They've been over for a month now, and they haven't made a joke yet. Birdie Sands has been out six weeks, and we haven't had a thing on him. And Prester John hasn't cracked a crib for two months--and I know he was hard up two months ago. Mr. Arden, when a lot of old lags all start reforming at once my nose itches!" "Uh-huh," said Storm thoughtfully. "And they're only a few." "With more coming into the fold every day," supplemented Mr. Teal. He was a big slow-moving man, red-faced and sleepy-eyed, beginning to pay the price of his youthful robustness as muscle turned to fat and easy living irresistibly increased his circumference. He was invariably tired and invariably bored--it was an affectation of his of which he was intensely proud. Storm stared out of the window. "When I got into this job," he said, "I had ideas. I thought Special Branch dealt with active crooks--not the boys who'd turned good. This is more subtle than I'd like it to be." Inspector Teal said nothing. Rousing himself slightly with what seemed a terrific effort, he reached into a pocket and extracted a small packet therefrom. From this packet he removed a smaller packet, and from the smaller packet he detached the pink wrapper. "If it wasn't so absurd," said Storm, "I'd tell you the only explanation I can see that fits." Mr. Teal conveyed a wafer of chewing gum to his mouth and champed meditatively. "Mr. Arden," he murmured drowsily, "if I hadn't heard things that make me want to offer that same theory, I'd say it was absurd. But I stood Prester John a drink this afternoon, and I picked his pocket. I ought to have been a criminal really--people wouldn't suspect me, because I look so innocent. Anyway, I found something interesting. Look at this." From his waistcoat pocket he took something that glittered and laid it on Storm's desk. It was a little silver triangle. In the centre a similar triangle was picked out in black enamel, and in the centre of this a silver alpha had been picked out in the enamel. Storm looked at it closely, turned it over and inspected the back, and laid it down. "What's this got to do with anything--if anything?" he demanded, and Mr. Teal shook his head. "That's what I want to know." The bell under Storm's desk rang discordantly, and he picked up the receiver. "Hullo... Speaking." He listened for a moment, and then spoke insistently. "Struth! No, I don't know anything about it--yet. Look here, Mr. Blaythwayt, will you wrap that letter up exactly as it came, envelope and all, and send it round at once by special messenger? ... Yes, New Scotland Yard.... Right-thanks!" "I know that man Blaythwayt," said Mr. Teal, as Storm replaced the receiver. "He's manager--" "Shut up!" snarled Storm. "I'm thinking."