It was a close shave, and Amber breathed a sigh of relief as the danger slipped past. He had ten minutes to decide upon his plan. Being more than ordinary nimble of wit, his scheme was complete before the cab ran smoothly over Westminster Bridge and turned into New Scotland Yard. There was an inspector behind a desk, who looked up from a report he was writing. “I want to see Mr. Fell,” said Amber. “Name?” “Amber.” “Seem to know it,--what is the business?” For answer, Amber laid one hand on the polished counter that separated him from the officer, and placed two fingers diagonally across it. The inspector grunted affirmatively and reached for the telephone. “An outside--to see Mr. Fell.... Yes.” He hung up the receiver. “Forty-seven,” he said; “you know your way up.” It happened that Amber did not possess this knowledge, but he found no difficulty in discovering number forty-seven, which was a reception-room. He had a few minutes to wait before a messenger came for him and showed him into a plainly furnished office. Very little introduction is needed to Josiah Fell, who has figured in every great criminal case during the past twenty years. A short, thickset man, bald of forehead, with a pointed brown beard. His nose was short and retroussé, his forehead was bald, the flesh about his mild blue eyes was wrinkled and creased by much laughter. He was less like the detective of fiction than the unknowledgable would dare imagine. “Amber, by heavens!” said the detective. He had a habit of using strong and unnecessary language. “Amber, my boy, come in and firmey la porte. Well----?” He unlocked a drawer and produced a box of cigars. He was always glad to meet his “clients,” and Amber was an especial favourite of his. Though, when he came to think about the matter, he had not met Amber professionally. “You’ll have a cigar?” “What’s wrong with ’em?” asked Amber, cautiously selecting one. “Nothing much,” and as Amber lit the cheroot he had taken--“What do you want? Confession, fresh start in life--oh! of course, you’ve got somebody to put away; they telephoned up that you were doing outside work.” Amber shook his head. “I told ’em that because I knew that would get me an interview without fuss,--an old convict I met in prison gave me the sign.” He took the packages from his pocket and laid them on the table. “For me?” queried the officer. “For you, my Hawkshaw,” said Amber. The detective stripped the paper away, and uttered an exclamation as he saw what the parcels contained. “Gee--Moses!” He whistled long and softly. “Not your work, Amber? Hardly in your line, eh?” “Hardly.” “Where did you get them?” Fell looked up quickly as he asked the question. “That’s the one thing I’m not going to tell you,” said Amber quietly, “but if you want to know how I got them, I burgled an office and found them in a safe.” “When?” “To-night.” The inspector pressed a bell and a policeman came into the room.