As Silva anticipated, the colonel was up and waiting for him. He was playing Patience on his desk and looked up with a scowl as the Portuguese entered. "So you've been skulking, have you, Pinto?" he began, but the other interrupted him. "You can keep all that talk for another time," he said. "They've taken Phillopolis!" The colonel swept his cards aside with a quick, nervous gesture. "Taken Phillopolis?" he repeated slowly. "On what charge?" "For being the receiver of stolen property," said the other. "They found the proceeds of the Regent Street burglary in his apartments." The colonel opened his mouth to speak, then shut it again, and there was silence for two or three minutes. "I see. They have planted the stuff on him, have they?" "What do you mean?" asked Pinto. "You don't suppose that Phillopolis is a fence, do you?" said the colonel scornfully. "Why, it is a business that a man must spend the whole of his life at before he can be successful. No, Phillopolis knows no more about that burglary or the jewels than you or I. The stuff has been planted in his rooms." "But the police don't do that sort of thing." "Who said the police did it?" snarled the colonel. "Of course they didn't. They haven't the sense. That's Mr. Jack o' Judgment once more, and this time, Pinto, he's real dangerous." "Jack o' Judgment!" gasped Pinto. "But would he commit a burglary?" The colonel laughed scornfully. "Would he commit murder? Would he hang Raoul? Would he shoot you? Don't ask such damn-fool questions, Silva! Of course it was Jack o' Judgment. I tell you, the night you were in Yorkshire making a mess of that Crotin business, Jack o' Judgment came here, to this very room, and told me that he would ruin us one by one, and that he would leave me to the last. He mentioned us all--you, Crewe, Selby----" He stopped suddenly and scratched his chin. "But not Lollie Marsh," he said. "That's queer, he never mentioned Lollie Marsh!" He was deep in thought for a few moments, then he went on: "So he's worked off Phillopolis, has he? Well, Phillopolis has got to take his medicine. I can do nothing for him." "But surely he can prove----" began Pinto. "What can he prove?" asked the other. "Can he prove how he earns his money? He's been taken with the goods; he hasn't that chance," he snapped his fingers. "I'll make a prophecy," he said: "Phillopolis will get five years' penal servitude, and nothing in the world can save him from that." "An innocent man!" said Pinto in amazement. "Impossible!"