"All I can tell you, sergeant," he said, "is--practically--what I've told the public in my advertisement. Of course, I can supplement it a bit. The book is a very valuable one--you see," he went on, with a careless wave of his hand towards his book-shelves. "I'm something of a collector of rare books. I bought this particular book yesterday afternoon, at a well-known dealer's in High Holborn. Soon after buying it, I got into a Cricklewood omnibus, which I left at Chapel Street--at the corner of Praed Street, as a matter of fact: I wished to make a call at the Great Western Hotel. It was not till I made that call that I found I'd left the book in the 'bus--I was thinking hard about a business matter--I'd placed the book in a corner behind me--and, of course, I'd forgotten it, valuable though it is. And so, later on, after telephoning to the omnibus people, who'd heard nothing, I sent that advertisement round to all the morning papers. I'm very glad to hear of it--and I shall be pleased to reward you," he concluded, turning to Melky. "Handsomely!--as I promised." But Melky made no sign of gratitude or pleasure. He was eyeing the rich man before him in inquisitive fashion. "Mister!" he said suddenly. "I'd like to ask you a question." Levendale frowned a little. "Well?" he asked brusquely. "What is it?" "This here," replied Melky. "Was that there book wrapped up? Was it brown-papered, now, when you left it?" It seemed to Lauriston that Levendale was somewhat taken aback. But if he was, it was only for a second: his answer, then, came promptly enough. "No, it was not," he said. "I carried it away from the shop where I bought it--just as it was. Why do you ask?" "It's a very fine-bound book," remarked Melky. "I should ha' thought, now, that if it had been left in a 'bus, the conductor would ha' noticed it, quick." "So should I," said Levendale. "Anything else?" he added, glancing at Ayscough. "Well, no, Mr. Levendale, thank you," replied the detective. "At least not just now. But--the fact is, Mr. Multenius appears to have come to his death by violence--and I want to know if whoever took your book into his shop had anything to do with it." "Ah!--however, I can't tell you any more," said Levendale. "Please see that my book's taken great care of and returned to me, sergeant. Good-morning." Outside, Ayscough consulted his watch and looked at his companions. "Time we were going on to the inquest," he remarked. "Come on--we'll step round there together. You're both wanted, you know." "I'll join you at the Coroner's court, Mr. Ayscough," said Melky. "I've got a few minutes' business--shan't be long." He hurried away by a short cut to Praed Street and turned into Mrs. Goldmark's establishment. Mrs. Goldmark herself was still ministering to Zillah, but the young woman whom Melky had seen the night before was in charge. Melky drew her aside.