Jack asked all the natural questions, and Mr. Anderson answered them with every appearance of frankness. The information he gave merely amplified the talk of his representative the day before; the great public service Eureka performed, etc., etc. Jack learned nothing really significant from his talk, nor had he expected to. He asked no searching questions, because he did not want Anderson to guess that his customer was suspicious. Jack's real purpose was to learn what kind of man was at the head of this branch of the Red Gang's activities, and while Anderson talked he studied him. In the end he had to confess himself baffled. Anderson was anything but what he had expected to find. He seemed like one of those rather slack individuals who represent the average of mankind; neither good nor bad; neither wise nor foolish; an untidy, well-meaning, loose-tongued fellow. How such a one could be trusted to direct an important part of so dangerous an enterprise, Jack was unable to understand--unless it were that Anderson himself did not know what was behind the scheme. But that did not seem credible either. Jack left him, professing to be entirely satisfied on his employer's account. Mr. Delamare's promised letter of introduction to the third Deputy Commissioner had come in the morning's mail. Jack's next visit was to police headquarters to present it. He wished to establish a connection there on which he could fall back on in case of need. He found the deputy an accommodating and capable official. Since he bears no part in Jack's story, it is unnecessary to characterize him further. Jack had no intention of taking him into his confidence just yet. He merely said that he was undertaking a little detective work for his employer, and the Deputy furnished him with a circular letter to all members of the force, instructing them to lend the bearer any assistance that he required. Here, as elsewhere, the wonder-working name of Norman smoothed Jack's way. While he was there, Jack inquired as to the status of the investigation into Silas Gyde's murder. He found that it was at a standstill. The assassin, Jansen, was confined in an asylum a raving maniac, and nothing of importance had been unearthed concerning his antecedents. If he had been a member of any anarchistic circle the fact had not been established. He appeared to have led a solitary life, moving from one hall bedroom to another. His mind had been gradually undermined by too close an application to his anarchistic studies, and to a book on the subject that he was writing. The fact of the book was new to Jack. "Have you the manuscript?" he asked. "It was found in his room," the Deputy said. "May I see it?" "Certainly. But you'll find neither head nor tail to it."