“Nothing simpler, madam! To begin with, look at that bundle of sticks and umbrellas in the net above his head; amongst them don’t you see something long in a green baize case?—a sword, an officer’s sword, obviously! Then notice his temples; the hair lies flat to the head all round a circular line, while it sticks out like other people’s just below at the level of the top of the ear—that means our gentleman usually wears a képi. Then, consider, apart from the moustache, the only hair he wears on his face, the bronze of the skin, stopping short at the neck—there you have a man used to living in the open air. I believe I am pretty accurate in my diagnosis ... what do you think of it?” Hamilton Gould’s big hand fell familiarly on the silver-haired individual’s shoulder. “I think, sir,” he declared emphatically, “that to follow up a train of reasoning like that, to draw a conclusion with such clearness and precision, there’s only one man in all the world, above all only one American—and I think you are that man, Tom Bob in person!” The man addressed smiled as he looked with sparkling eyes in the face of the genial globe-trotter. “You are right,” he said simply, “I am Tom Bob.” It was the signal for an outburst of enthusiasm and curiosity that soon spread to every passenger in the carriage. All crowded round the famous detective, each more eager than the other to speak to the great man. “I beg and pray,” Mrs. Bigelow urged her husband, “you will introduce me; how delightful, how amusing to know a detective!” But already Tom Bob, like the perfect man of the world he was, was paying his respects to the Princess Danidoff. “We possess some good friends in common, Princess,” he was saying, “the Count and Countess Karenisky; I knew them well when I was staying at St. Petersburg; in fact, I had an opportunity of doing them a small service.” “At the time of the Nihilists, was it not?” interrupted the Princess Sonia. “Yes, indeed, during that critical period ...” But the princess shuddered at the mournful recollections the words recalled, and stopped any further reference to the past: “Do not, I beg you, sir, revive these dreadful memories!” However, Hamilton Gould broke in at this point, very opportunely changing the conversation. “Then,” he asked, “as you know us all, you were actually on board the _Lorraine_?” “Why, certainly, sir,” replied Tom Bob. “Do you want proofs? You occupied the state room No. 127, the Princess Sonia Danidoff had a cabin port side; we enjoyed a first-rate passage, though on the evening of the second day, a bit of a gale blew up about six o’clock, and we feared bad weather for next day. Is that correct?” “Absolutely correct!” asseverated Mr. Van Buren.