"One thing is evident, and must be remembered," T. B. went on, as his chief still lingered. "Outside of the Nine Men there must be in Europe hundreds of agents, who, without being aware of their principals, have been acting blindly for years in their interest. What of the men who went to the length of murder at Poltavo's orders? What of the assassins in Europe and America who 'arranged' the suicide of the bank president and the wreck of the Sud Express? Not one of these men have we been able to track down. I tell you, sir, that outside of the inner council of this gang, Poltavo organised as great a band of villains as the world has ever seen. They remain; this is an indisputable fact; somewhere in the world, scattered materially, but bound together by bonds of Poltavo's weaving, are a number of men who formed the working parts of the Nine Men's great machine. For the moment the steam is absent---- Yes?" A constable was at the door. "A message for you, sir." T. B. took the envelope and tore it open mechanically. It was a note from Van Ingen. "Saw Poltavo ten minutes ago in a hansom. Positive--no disguise. C.V.I." Smith sat suddenly erect. "Poltavo in London!" he breathed. "It is incredible!" He stood up, busily engaged in speculation. * * * * * * * The little telegraph instrument near the Chief Inspector's desk began to click. In every police station throughout the metropolis it snapped forth its message. In Highgate, in Camberwell, in sleepy Greenwich, in Ladywell, as in Stoke Newington. "Clickerty, clickerty, click," it went, hastily, breathlessly. It ran: "To ALL STATIONS: Arrest and detain Count Ivan Poltavo. [Here the description followed.] All reserves out in plain clothes." All reserves out! That was a remarkable order. London did not know of the happening; the homeward-bound suburbanite may have noticed a couple of keen-faced men standing idly near the entrance of the railway station, may have seen a loiterer on the platform--a loiterer who apparently had no train to catch. Curious men, too, came to the hotels, lounging away the whole evening in the entrance hall, mildly interested in people who came or went. Even the tram termini were not neglected, nor the theatre queues, nor the boarding-houses of Bloomsbury. Throughout London, from east to west, north to south, the work that Scotland Yard had set silent emissaries to perform was swiftly and expeditiously carried out. T. B. sat all that evening in his office waiting. One by one little pink slips were carried in to him and laid upon the desk before him. As the evening advanced they increased in number and length. At eight o'clock came a wire: "Not leaving by Hook of Holland route." Soon after nine: "Continental mail clear." Then in rapid succession the great caravanserais reported themselves. Theatres, bars, restaurants, every place in London where men and women gather together, sent, through the plain-clothes watchers, their messages.