By the time Elk had arrived, the philosopher was dressed. “He gave you a pretty hefty one,” said Elk, examining the contusion with a professional eye. “I wasn’t prepared for it. I expected him to shoot, and he must have struck at me as I fired.” “You say it was the Frog himself?” said the sceptical Elk. “I doubt it. The Frog has never undertaken a job on his own, so far as I can remember.” “It was either the Frog or one of his trusted emissaries,” said Johnson with a good-humoured smile. “Look at this.” On the centre of his pink blotting-pad was stamped the inevitable Frog. It appeared also on the panel of the door. “That is supposed to be a warning, isn’t it?” said Johnson. “Well, I hadn’t time to get acquainted with the warning before I got mine!” “There are worse things than a clubbing,” said Elk cheerfully. “You’ve missed nothing?” Johnson shook his head. “No, nothing.” Elk’s inspection of the room was short but thorough. It was near the open window, blown by the breeze into the folds of the curtain, that he found the parcel-room ticket. It was a green slip acknowledging the reception of a handbag, and it was issued at the terminus of the Great Northern Railway. “Is this yours?” he asked. Johnson took the slip from him, examined it and shook his head. “No,” he said, “I’ve never seen it before.” “Anybody else in your flat likely to have left a bag at King’s Cross station?” Again Johnson shook his head and smiled. “There is nobody else in this flat,” he said, “except myself.” Elk took the paper under the light and scrutinized the date-stamp. The luggage had been deposited a fortnight before, and, as is usual in such tickets, the name of the depositor was not given. “It may have blown in from the garden,” he said. “There is a stiff breeze to-night, but I should not imagine that anybody who had got an important piece of luggage would leave the ticket to fly around. I’ll investigate this,” he said, and put the ticket carefully away in his pocket-book. “You didn’t see the man?” “I caught a glimpse of him as I fired, and I am under the impression that he was masked.” “Did you recognize his voice?” “No,” said Johnson, shaking his head. Elk examined the window. The catch had been cleverly forced—“cleverly” because it was a new type of patent fastening familiar to him, and which he did not remember ever having seen forced from the outside before. Instinctively his mind went back to the burglary at Lord Farmley’s, to that beautifully cut handle and blown lock; and though, by no stretch of imagination, could the two jobs be compared, yet there was a similarity in finish and workmanship which immediately struck him.