Another thing. I also know _why_ you killed him. You put him away to get hold of the papers in Field’s hat. But you do not know that the papers you stole from him are _not the originals_. To prove this to you, I am enclosing one sheet from the testimony of Nellie Johnson which was in Field’s possession. If the papers you took from Field’s hat are still in existence, compare what you have with this one. You will soon see that I am giving you the straight goods. And I have the rest of the originals safely put away where you will never lay hands on them. I might say that the police are looking for them with their tongues hanging out. Wouldn’t it be nice if I stepped into Inspector Queen’s office with the papers and my little story? I will give you a chance to buy these papers. You can bring $25,000 in cold cash to the place I describe, and I will hand them over to you. I need money and you need the papers and my silence. Meet me to-morrow, Tuesday night, at twelve o’clock, at the seventh bench on the right-hand side of the paved path in Central Park which starts at the northwest corner of 59th Street and 5th Avenue. I will be dressed in a gray overcoat and a gray slouch hat. Just say the word Papers to me. This is the only way you can get the papers. Don’t look for me before the appointment. If you are not there, I know what I have to do.” The scrawl, closely and painfully written, was signed: “Charles Michaels.” Inspector Queen sighed, licked the flap of the envelope and sealed it. He stared steadily at the name and address written in the same handwriting on the envelope. Unhurriedly he affixed a stamp on one corner. He pressed another button. The door opened to admit Detective Ritter. “Good morning, Inspector.” “Morning, Ritter.” The Inspector weighed the envelope reflectively in his hand. “What are you working on now?” The detective shuffled his feet. “Nothing special, Inspector. I was helping Sergeant Velie up to Saturday, but I haven’t had any work yet on the Field case this morning.” “Well, then, I’ll give you a nice little job.” The Inspector suddenly grinned, holding out the envelope. Ritter took it with a bewildered air. “Here, son, go to the corner of 149th Street and Third Avenue and post this letter in the nearest mail-box!” Ritter stared, scratched his head, looked at Queen and finally went out, depositing the letter in his pocket. The Inspector tilted his chair and took a pinch of snuff with every evidence of satisfaction. CHAPTER XXI IN WHICH INSPECTOR QUEEN MAKES A CAPTURE— On Tuesday evening, October second, promptly at 11:30 p.m., a tall man wearing a soft black hat and a black overcoat, the collar pulled up around his face to keep out the raw night-air, sauntered out of the lobby of a small hotel on 53rd Street near Seventh Avenue and proceeded at a sharp pace up Seventh Avenue toward Central Park.