Enlightening it certainly was, and no error. Almost the only thing it neglected to reveal to the detective was the identity of the Tiger himself—the voice of the man called “Chief” had been studiously throttled down to a toneless flat key that was useless as a clue. The Tiger was taking no chances of being caught in person, and he had spoken throughout in a dead level monotone that anyone could have imitated—and, in addition, Carn knew the tricks which electricity plays even with a man’s natural voice, and he would have looked long and carefully before leaping to accuse anybody of being the Tiger on no other grounds than a fancied vocal resemblance after the valves and magnets and transformers had finished distorting a disguised intonation. The one thing that puzzled Carn was the reference to the Old House, which apparently was an island. He got up and went over to where, on the wall, was pinned a large-scale ordnance map of the district. It was covered with patterns in various coloured inks, for ostensibly it was a record of Dr. Carn’s geological investigations; but in reality it was a diagram of the battlefield for the assistance of Inspector Carn’s criminal investigation. A search of the coast line located the Old House, which Carn had noticed on his bug-hunting expeditions without imagining that such a small hunk of land was dignified with a name all to itself, for he had been born and bred a long way from the sea. That, then, was the Old House, from which something was to be taken on board at dead of night. Carn did not have to wonder what that something might be. Everything had come into his hands in a few short minutes. The detective pulled up a chair and began to pack his pipe, and for all his practical cold-bloodedness he found that his fingers moved clumsily for the trembling of his hand. His agitation was pardonable, since the trailing of the Tiger was the biggest and stiffest undertaking he had yet brought to a triumphant conclusion. And regard it as a triumphant conclusion he did already, for with dexterous handling he could not conceive the triumph slipping through his fingers. All he had to do was make his plans for the _coup_. He knew now where the gold was, and it was as safe there as if it had been lying in the vaults of the Confederate Bank. Even if the Saint also knew its whereabouts, Carn could not imagine even that supremely resourceful man being able to remove it singlehanded by morning—especially with several Tiger Cubs on the spot. And the Tiger had kindly informed Inspector Carn exactly where he could be found that night. There would be a number of men down at the quay, and the Tiger would be one of them. Ruling out Bloem, Bittle, and the Saint, it did not seem as if anyone could go far wrong in making a selection.