“Dangerous; carries firearms.” In another hand, and in the red ink which is used to close a criminal career, was written: “Died at sea. _Channel Queen_. Black Rock. Feb. 1, 1898.” Elk remembered the wreck of the Guernsey mail packet on the Black Rocks. He turned back the page to read particulars of the dead man’s crimes, and the comments of those who from time to time had been brought into official contact with him. In these scraps of description was the real biography. “Works alone,” was one comment, and another; “No women clue—women never seen with him.” A third scrawl was difficult to decipher, but when Elk mastered the evil writing, he half rose from the chair in his excitement. It was: “Add to body marks in general D.C.P. 14 frog tattooed left wrist. New. J. J. M.” The date against which this was written was the date of the man’s last conviction. Elk turned up the printed blank “D.C.P.14” and found it to be a form headed “Description of Convicted Person.” The number was the classification. There was no mention of tattooed frogs: somebody had been careless. Word by word he read the description: “Henry John Lyme, _a._ Young Harry, _a._ Thomas Martin, _a._ Boy Peace, _a._ Boy Harry (there were five lines of aliases). Burglar (dangerous; carries firearms). Height 5 ft. 6 in. Chest 38. Complexion fresh, eyes grey, teeth good, mouth regular, dimple in chin. Nose straight. Hair brown, wavy, worn long. Face round. Moustache drooping; wears side-whiskers. Feet and hands normal. Little toe left foot amputated first joint owing to accident, H.M. Prison, Portland. Speaks well, writes good hand. Hobbies none. Smokes cigarettes. Poses as public official, tax collector, sanitary inspector, gas or water man. Speaks French and Italian fluently. Never drinks; plays cards but no gambler. Favourite hiding place, Rome or Milan. No conviction abroad. No relations. Excellent organizer. Immediately after crime, look for him at good hotel in Midlands or working to Hull for the Dutch or Scandinavian boats. Has been known to visit Guernsey. . . .” Here followed the Bertillon measurements and body marks—this was in the days before the introduction of the finger-print system. But there was no mention of the Frog on the left wrist. Elk dropped his pen in the ink and wrote in the missing data. Underneath he added: “This man may still be alive,” and signed his initials. CHAPTER X ON HARLEY TERRACE SO writing, the telephone buzzed, and in his unflurried way he finished his entry and blotted it before he took up the instrument. “Captain Gordon wishes you to take the first taxi you can find and come to his house—the matter is very urgent,” said a voice. “I am speaking from Harley Terrace.” “All right.” Elk found his hat and umbrella, stopped long enough to return the records to their home, and went out into the dark courtyard.