There is little to note in the two following years until 1892, when March 24th brought about the conviction of persons at Walsall who were in possession of explosives which could only be used for a wrongful purpose. The sample of bombs shown (Fig. 26) was photographed from those which convicted the prisoners, and which are now at New Scotland Yard. [Illustration: FIG 26.--THE WALSALL BOMBS.] On Christmas Eve, 1892, an infernal machine exploded outside the Detective Office, Exchange Court, Dublin, which resulted in the death of poor Sinnott. As he was proceeding to the office he saw a parcel. It is probable that he examined it--not kicking it, but handling it--for one of his fingers was blown into an upper window. Only a very small charge was used--about a pound--but it did some damage and cost a life. The last two events of any importance at the time of writing were the explosion at the Four Courts, Dublin, in May, 1893, which Colonel Ford investigated, and considered very similar to that of the previous Christmas Eve; and that at the Aldboro' Barracks, Dublin, towards the end of last November. [Illustration: GIOVANNI A THEME WITH VARIATIONS, BY JAMES D. SYMON.] I. "Nothing more to-night, thank you, Robert; I shall require nothing more, except to be left alone." "Very well, sir." The old servitor withdrew, and Arthur Dalziel threw himself into his lounging chair with a weary look in his eyes. For a long time he gazed into the fire, muttering now and then between his teeth: "If--yet, no, it is impossible, impossible! Yes, Arthur, my boy, you'd have to give it all up, lands, position, prospect of a title--that London life you love so much--and go back to dreary Scotch law. But you're a fool to think of such things, a confounded fool!" He rose, and going to a side table poured out a glass of wine, which he drained hastily. The wine seemed to relieve him of his disturbing thoughts. He glanced more cheerfully round his luxurious sanctum--half library, half music-room--and strolled up to the piano, where he stood carelessly fingering the keys. One or two chance chords evidently awoke some old memories of half-forgotten melody, for he turned to a canterbury and searched among the heterogeneous mass of music it contained. Music is somehow always hard to find, but at length Dalziel drew out a single leaf of faded manuscript, which he set on the stand and, seating himself, began to play.