"Well, you can now, here is our old friend, Inspector Morebusiness" (You, dear reader, can guess his real name). "Tell the Inspector what you saw." "It was a leg of mutton hanging up in a butcher’s shop," shouted the miserable would-be humorist, as he made a dash out of the door, just in time to escape the bottle of ink that Keys sent hurtling through the air, only, alas! to smash on the rapidly closing door. The Inspector rolling on the floor in a paroxysm of laughter could hardly get out the words. "First of April," and Keys sank back in his chair muttering the monosyllable "Stung!" *V.* *THE ADVENTURE OF THE THIRTEEN CABS* London was in the throes of a general strike, and the labour world in such a seething ferment that many of the unions had broken from the control of their leaders, while others were led to lengths that many of the members deeply regretted, but were unable to prevent, so that deeds of violence were of daily occurrence. As we sat at breakfast Inspector Morebusiness was announced, and Keys bade him to enter, not very cordially I am afraid, as it was the first time we had seen him since his display of—to put it mildly—undue levity over the unfortunate case of Theophilus Brown. However, on seeing how white and worried the Inspector looked, Keys’ look of annoyance passed away, and heartily inviting him to join us at the table, refused to listen to his story until he had done justice to our ham and eggs and coffee. It was a terrible story that the inspector had to tell us. nothing less than the destruction of the National Gallery, with its priceless treasures, and of course loss of life, or injury, to anyone happening to be in the neighborhood, for nitro-glycerine was the destructive agent used. He went on to say that the police had no clue, and in despair he had come to Keys, a genuine acknowledgment of the Great Detective’s marvellous powers, if a somewhat tardy one. Keys closely questioned him as to anything unusual having been noticed in the vicinity, and the inspector said that one of his men had seen thirteen cabs passing shortly before the explosion. "Arrest the President and all the Officers of the Bakers’ and Pastrycooks’ Union, at once," said Keys. Greatly wondering, but willing to catch at any straw, the Inspector hastened to obey him. One evening, some little time after the conviction and subsequent confession of the men whose arrest Keys had ordered, the Inspector dropped in, he said, for a smoke, but it was easy to see that he was dying to ask a question, so presently Keys said, "Well, Morebusiness, you want to know how I did it." The Inspector nodded an eager assent. "Well, my friend, it was quite simple. Dynamite is heavy stuff, and in such a quantity could not have been carried by hand without exciting suspicion, but what more harmless looking than a four-wheeler, and thirteen of them—isn’t that a baker’s dozen!"