“I can make out an _M_, there is then a space, over the space there are two dots, a little further along occurs an _l_ followed by—is it a _t_ or an _l_? Ah! yes, it must be an _l_, though the loop is very indistinct; then occurs an _i_ without a dot and an _r_. Thus: “‘_M .. llir._’” “That doesn’t tell much,” said Dennison. “No,” replied Freyberger, “but it tells me one thing.” “What is that?” “That whatever was written was not written in English.” “How so?” “Those two accentuating dots are never used in English. They are used sometimes—very rarely—in poetry, I believe, but we may suppose the writing on this to have been in prose.” “Let’s suppose so,” said Dennison. “Though I’ve seen poetry written on the back of a photograph before this; it was in the case of a fellow called Buckingham. He’d given it to his girl, and the next thing he did was to murder her. His poetry hanged him.” “I don’t know of any language,” said Freyberger, contemplatively, in which the combination _llir_ might occur commonly; _lir_ is, of course, common; _llir_ most uncommon; suppose it is an _e_, though there is no perceptible loop—_ller_. “That seems to me as uncommon as the other,” said Dennison. “Ah!” cried Freyberger, suddenly, “I have it.” “What?” “See!” Freyberger snatched a pen and wrote in large letters upon a sheet of paper— “_Müller._” “By Jove, yes,” said Dennison, “that might be it.” “I think it’s likely,” said the other. “First of all it’s a name, and a name is the most likely thing to be written on a photograph. Then the thing constructs itself easily. Dennison, without those two dots, the idea would not have occurred to me. Those two dots may be the means of finding our man. Another point, the writing, whatever it was, formed a single word, and that word was erased. “Now, what form of a single word is most likely to be carefully erased? The name of a person, I think?” “That is so.” “I’m going home to bed now,” said Freyberger, “to get a few hours’ sleep, but before I go I will ring up Paris.” “Yes,” said Dennison, “it’s well to give them all the facts now, and they can make inquiries first thing in the morning.” “The thing I’m bothered about,” said Freyberger, “is that I don’t know whether Gassard is still in the Boulevard St-Michel. I was over there two months ago on that bank-note forgery case, and I routed out all the photographers in the Latin Quarter. I had a long list. If Gassard’s name had been on that list, I almost think it would have sprung alive into my head on reading it on this photo, for I have a memory that is not so bad.” He went to the telephone and rang up the Prefecture of Police. The reply call did not come for five minutes. Then Freyberger put his ear to the receiver. A thin, acidulous voice came through the humming of the wires.