“Your memory is at fault,” said the other calmly as he unfolded his napkin and regarded the detective with a twinkle in his eye. “Safe-opening is not my profession.” “And I never dreamt it was,” said Elk heartily. “But it has always struck me that the Americans are much more clever with their hands than the people in this country, and I thought that you might be able to give me a word of advice.” “Maybe I’ll introduce you to my pet burglar,” said Broad gravely, and they laughed together. “What do you think of me?” asked the American unexpectedly. “I’m not expecting you to give your view of my character or personal appearance, but what do you think I am doing in London, dodging around, doing nothing but a whole lot of amateur police work?” “I’ve never given you much thought,” said Elk untruthfully. “Being an American, I expect you to be out of the ordinary——” “Flatterer,” murmured Mr. Broad. “I wouldn’t go so far as to flatter you,” protested Elk. “Flattery is repugnant to me anyway.” He unfolded an evening newspaper he had brought. “Looking for those tailless amphibians?” “Eh?” Elk looked up puzzled. “Frogs,” explained the other. “No, I’m not exactly looking for Frogs, though I understand a few of ’em are looking for me. As a matter of fact, there’s very little in the newspaper about those interesting animals, but there’s going to be!” “When?” The question was a challenge. “When we get Frog Number One.” Mr. Broad crumpled a roll in his hand, and broke it. “Do you think you’ll get Number One before I get him?” he asked quietly, and Elk looked across the table over his spectacles. “I’ve been wondering that for a long time,” he said, and for a second their eyes met. “Do you think I shall get him?” asked Broad. “If all my speculations and surmises are what they ought to be, I think you will,” said Elk, and suddenly his attention was focussed upon a paragraph. “Quick work,” he said. “We beat you Americans in that respect.” “In what respect is that?” asked Broad. “I’m sufficient of a cosmopolitan to agree that there are many things in England which you do better than we in America.” Elk looked up at the ceiling. “Fifteen days?” he said. “Of course, he just managed to catch the Assizes.” “Who’s that?” “That man Carter, who shot a tramp near Gloucester,” said Elk. “What has happened to him?” asked the other. “He was sentenced to death this morning,” said the detective. Joshua Broad frowned. “Sentenced to death this morning? Carter, you say? I didn’t read the story of the murder.” “There was nothing complicated about it,” said Elk. “Two tramps had a quarrel—I think they got drinking—and one shot the other and was found lying in a drunken sleep by the dead man’s side. There’s practically no evidence; the prisoner refused to make any statement, or to instruct a lawyer—it must have been one of the shortest murder trials on record.”