I recognized the prisoner immediately. It was Henriques--the brute who had been going to strike Inez that night in the Rua Catania. “Run your hands over him and draw his teeth,” said my friend. He had both a revolver and a knife, and I took these from him and then turned out his pockets. Among the miscellaneous contents I found, to my intense surprise, an envelope addressed to Vasco, the name being given in full. I was careful not to show my keen interest at this, and something like a flash of intuition warned me that I must learn the contents of the letter without Henriques knowing that I had read it. As the envelope was fastened, this was a little difficult. “These things may be wanted by the police and may or may not be important,” I said to Burroughs. Then I fetched a sheet of paper from my desk, wrapped up the envelope and the small things and sealed the packet, placing the revolver and knife by them. I did it very deliberately so that Henriques should see, and then I said to him: “I don’t mean to give you a chance to deny that these thing were found on you.” “Shall I send for the police?” asked Burroughs, who was considerably perplexed by what I had done. “That depends upon this scoundrel. You needn’t hold him. He can’t do any harm. But don’t let him get near these toys of his,” and I pointed to his weapons. I had my plan by that time. I meant to trick him, and it was part of my plan that he should believe that the packet was not out of his sight the whole time. “Now, if you make a clean breast of things, I shall let you go,” I said, turning to the man. “What’s your name?” “Garcia Rosada.” He lied so promptly that I saw he had been carefully making up his tale. I was on the point of telling him I knew his name, when it occurred to me that it would be better to affect to believe him. “Who sent you here?” “No one.” “Why did you come then?” He hung his head for a moment as if in shame and then muttered: “I’ve never been a thief before, and if you’ll let me go, Excellency, I vow to the Holy Virgin I’ll never be one again. Have mercy on me. I’ve a wife and five children and this will--will kill them.” He was an artful scoundrel, and the break in his voice was quite cleverly done. I put a few more questions, and he improved on the tale, saying that his companion was name Ferraz, and having heard that I was a very rich man, had tempted him to try and rob me. Burroughs’ face, when he saw that I appeared to believe the yarn, was quite an amusing study. He was divided between doubt whether I was really gulled, and curiosity as to my object, if I was not. “I’ll write that down while it’s fresh in my memory. If I find your story true, I won’t punish you, Rosada,” I said and turned away to my writing table. I made a pretence of writing, repeating the words aloud and turning now and then to put a question about some detail. But what I really did was to make up a dummy packet the exact counterfeit of that on the table.