I had taken up the empty dram bottle and smelt it. The spirit it had contained was rum--which had evidently been drunk from the bottle, as there was no glass near. A slight quantity remained, and this I placed aside for analysis if necessary. "I can't see what this poor fellow has to do with the inquiry upon which we are engaged, Ambler," I remarked. "I do wish you'd be more explicit. Mystery seems to heap upon mystery." "Yes. You're right," he said reflectively. "Slowly--very slowly, I am working out the problem, Ralph. It has been a long and difficult matter; but by degrees I seem to be drawing towards a conclusion. This," and he pointed to the man lying dead, "is another of London's many mysteries, but it carries us one step further." "I can't, for the life of me, see what connection the death of this poor street hawker has with the strange events of the immediate past." "Remain patient. Let us watch the blustering inquiries of the police," he laughed. "They'll make a great fuss, but will find out nothing. The author of this crime is far too wary." "But this man Slade?" I said. "Of late your inquiries have always been of him. What is his connection with the affair?" "Ah, that we have yet to discover. He may have no connection, for aught I know. It is mere supposition, based upon a logical conclusion." "What motive had you in meeting this man here to-night?" I inquired, hoping to gather some tangible clue to the reason of his erratic movements. "Ah! that's just the point," he responded. "If this poor fellow had lived he would have revealed to me a secret--we should have known the truth!" "The truth!" I gasped. "Then at the very moment when he intended to confess to you he has been struck down." "Yes. His lips have been sealed by his enemy--and yours. Both are identical," he replied, and his lips snapped together in that peculiar manner that was his habit. I knew it was useless to question him further. Indeed, at that moment heavy footsteps sounded upon the stairs, and two constables, conducted by the shuffling old man, appeared upon the scene. "We have sent for you," Ambler explained. "This man is dead--died suddenly, we believe." "Who is he, sir?" inquired the elder of the pair, bending over the prostrate man, and taking up the smoky lamp in order to examine his features more carefully. "His name is Lane--a costermonger, known as Lanky Lane. The man with you is one of his friends, and can tell you more about him than I can." "Is he dead?" queried the second constable, touching the thin, pallid face. "Certainly," I answered. "I'm a doctor, and have already made an examination. He's been dead some time." My name and address was taken, together with that of my companion. When, however, Ambler told the officers his name, both were visibly impressed. The name of Jevons was well known to the police, who held him in something like awe as a smart criminal investigator.