“Yes, sir. He was with me in this but there was nothing wrong about the business--as far as we went. I don't mind admitting that I was planning a Big Thing. I'm not going to blow on it, if it's going to get me into trouble, but if you'll promise me that it won't, I'll tell you the whole story.” “Against whom was this coup of yours planned?” “Against Mr. Kara, sir,” said Fisher. “Go on with your story,” nodded T. X. The story was a short and commonplace one. Fisher had met a man who knew another man who was either a Turk or an Albanian. They had learnt that Kara was in the habit of keeping large sums of money in the house and they had planned to rob him. That was the story in a nutshell. Somewhere the plan miscarried. It was when he came to the incidents that occurred on the night of the murder that T. X. followed him with the greatest interest. “The old gentleman came in,” said Fisher, “and I saw him up to the room. I heard him coming out and I went up and spoke to him while he was having a chat with Mr. Kara at the open door.” “Did you hear Mr. Kara speak?” “I fancy I did, sir,” said Fisher; “anyway the old gentleman was quite pleased with himself.” “Why do you say 'old gentleman'!” asked T. X.; “he was not an old man.” “Not exactly, sir,” said Fisher, “but he had a sort of fussy irritable way that old gentlemen sometimes have and I somehow got it fixed in my mind that he was old. As a matter of fact, he was about forty-five, he may have been fifty.” “You have told me all this before. Was there anything peculiar about him!” Fisher hesitated. “Nothing, sir, except the fact that one of his arms was a game one.” “Meaning that it was--” “Meaning that it was an artificial one, sir, so far as I can make out.” “Was it his right or his left arm that was game!” interrupted T. X. “His left arm, sir.” “You're sure?” “I'd swear to it, sir.” “Very well, go on.” “He came downstairs and went out and I never saw him again. When you came and the murder was discovered and knowing as I did that I had my own scheme on and that one of your splits might pinch me, I got a bit rattled. I went downstairs to the hall and the first thing I saw lying on the table was a letter. It was addressed to me.” He paused and T. X. nodded. “Go on,” he said again. “I couldn't understand how it came to be there, but as I'd been in the kitchen most of the evening except when I was seeing my pal outside to tell him the job was off for that night, it might have been there before you came. I opened the letter. There were only a few words on it and I can tell you those few words made my heart jump up into my mouth, and made me go cold all over.” “What were they!” asked T. X. “I shall not forget them, sir. They're sort of permanently fixed in my brain,” said the man earnestly; “the note started with just the figures 'A. C. 274.'” “What was that!” asked T. X. “My convict number when I was in Dartmoor Prison, sir.” “What did the note say?”