“You were on the scene at this very moment,” he proceeded, after a brief contemplation of my face, “and you must have seen this man when he lifted the jewel and handed it back to Mr. Grey. Did you remark his features?” “No, sir; I was too far off; besides, my eyes were on Mr. Grey.” “That is a pity. I was in hopes you could satisfy me on a very important point.” “What point is that, Inspector Dalzell?” “Whether he answered the following description.” And, taking up another paper, he was about to read it aloud to me, when an interruption occurred. A man showed himself at the door, whom the inspector no sooner recognized than he seemed to forget me in his eagerness to interrogate him. Perhaps the appearance of the latter had something to do with it; he looked as if he had been running, or had been the victim of some extraordinary adventure. At all events, the inspector arose as he entered, and was about to question him when he remembered me, and, casting about for some means of ridding himself of my presence without injury to my feelings, he suddenly pushed open the door of an adjoining room and requested me to step inside while he talked a moment with this man. Of course I went, but I cast him an appealing look as I did so. It evidently had its effect, for his expression changed as his hand fell on the doorknob. Would he snap the lock tight, and so shut me out from what concerned me as much as it did any one in the whole world? Or would he recognize my anxiety—the necessity I was under of knowing just the ground I was standing on—and let me hear what this man had to report? I watched the door. It closed slowly, too slowly to latch. Would he catch it anew by the knob? No; he left it thus, and, while the crack was hardly perceptible, I felt confident that the least shake of the floor would widen it and give me the opportunity I sought. But I did not have to wait for this. The two men in the office I had just left began to speak, and to my unbounded relief were sufficiently intelligible, even now, to warrant me in giving them my fullest attention. After some expressions of astonishment on the part of the inspector as to the plight in which the other presented himself, the latter broke out: “I’ve just escaped death! I’ll tell you about that later. What I want to tell you now is that the man we want is in town. I saw him last night, or his shadow, which is the same thing. It was in the house in Eighty-sixth Street,—the house they all think closed. He came in with a key and—” “Wait! You have him?” “No. It’s a long story, sir—” “Tell it!” The tone was dry. The inspector was evidently disappointed.