Thorndyke nodded, and seemed to reflect for a moment. Then he asked: “Have you made any other inquiries?” “No; there is nothing more to find out until we get hold of our man, and when we do, we shall look to you to secure the conviction. I suppose you are quite certain as to your facts?” Thorndyke shook his head with a smile. “I am never certain until after the event. We can only act on probabilities.” “I understand,” said the superintendent, casting a sly look at me; “but your probabilities are good enough for me.” With this, he picked up his hat and departed, leaving us to return to the occupations that our visitors had interrupted. I heard no more of the Manford case for about a week, and assumed that Thorndyke’s interest in it had ceased. But I was mistaken, as I discovered when he remarked casually one evening: “No news of Bilsky, so far; and time is running on. I am proposing to make a tentative move in a new direction.” I looked at him inquiringly, and he continued: “It appears, ‘from information received,’ that Elliott had some dealings with him, so I propose to call at his house to-morrow and see if we can glean any news of the lost sheep.” “But Elliott is abroad,” I objected. “True; but his wife isn’t; and she evidently knows all about his affairs. I have invited Miller to come with me in case he would like to put any questions; and you may as well come, too, if you are free.” It did not sound like a very thrilling adventure, but one never knew with Thorndyke. I decided to go with him, and at that the matter dropped, though I speculated a little curiously on the source of the information. So, apparently, had the superintendent, for when he arrived on the following morning he proceeded to throw out a few cautious feelers, but got nothing for his pains beyond vague generalities. “It is a purely tentative proceeding,” said Thorndyke, “and you mustn’t be disappointed if nothing comes of it.” “I shall be, all the same,” replied Miller, with a sly glance at my senior, and with this we set forth on our quest. The Elliotts’ house was, as I knew, in some part of Wimbledon, and thither we made our way by train. From the station we started along a wide, straight main street from which numbers of smaller streets branched off. At the corner of one of these I noticed a man standing, apparently watching our approach; and something in his appearance seemed to me familiar. Suddenly he took off his hat, looked curiously into its interior, and put it on again. Then he turned about and walked quickly down the side street. I looked at his retreating figure as we crossed the street, wondering who he could be. And then it flashed upon me that the resemblance was to a certain ex-sergeant Barber whom Thorndyke occasionally employed for observation duties. Just as I reached this conclusion, Thorndyke halted and looked about him doubtfully. “I am afraid we have come too far,” said he. “I fancy we ought to have gone down that last turning.”