Turning sharply round, he walked back to the counter. "Are you sure you are not making a mistake?" he said, quickly; "you must have made up fourteen pills." "But, monsieur, behold!" said Judas, pointing to the prescription, "No. XII." "Yes, that's twelve, sure enough," observed Fanks, trying to appear calm, but feeling excited at the thought that he had stumbled on some tangible evidence at last. "Did you make up the pills?" "Yes, I myself, monsieur." "And you are sure you only made up twelve?" "On my word of honour, monsieur," said Judas, opening his eyes with their guileless look; "but I do not ask monsieur to believe me if he has doubt. Eh, my faith, no! Monsieur my master also counted the pills." "That is the custom, I believe," said Mr. Fanks, thoughtfully, "a kind of check." "But certainly, monsieur, without doubt." At this moment, as if he knew his presence was required, Mr. Wosk walked into the shop, whereupon Monsieur Judas at once explained the matter to him. "My assistant is--ahem--correct," said Mr. Wosk, sadly, as if he rather regretted it than otherwise. "I remember Mr. Melstane's tonic pills, and I--ahem--did count them. There were--ahem--twelve." "You are sure?" "I am certain." "An' I to myself can assure it," remarked Judas, in English; "but if monsieur would make to himself visits at monsieur le docteur, he could know exactly of the numbers. Eh bien. Je le crois." "Where does Dr. Japix live?" asked Fanks, picking up the pill-box and putting it in his pocket. "I will call round and see him." Mr. Wosk wrote out the address and handed it to the detective with a bow. "There's nothing wrong with the--ahem--medicine, I trust," he said, nervously. "I am--ahem--most careful, and my assistant, Monsieur Judas, is much to be--ahem--trusted." "I don't know if anything's wrong with these pills," said Octavius, touching his breast coat-pocket, "but you know the saying, 'There is more in this than meets the eye.' Shakespeare, you observe. Wonderful man--appropriate remark for everything. Monsieur Guinaud, I will see you to-night. Mr. Wosk, to-morrow expect me about these pills. Good afternoon." When he had vanished into the fog, which he did as soon as he went outside, Mr. Wosk turned to his assistant with some alarm. "I trust, Monsieur Judas, that the pills--the pills--" "They are in themselves qui' right. Eh! oh, yes," replied Monsieur Judas, letting his eyelids droop over his eyes. "To-morrow I to you will speke of dis--dis--eh! le mystère--vous savez, monsieur. Le Mystère Jarlcesterre." "That thing in the paper," cried Mr. Wosk, aghast. "Why--ahem--what has it got to do--ahem--with us?" Monsieur Judas shrugged his shoulders, spread out his hands with a deprecating gesture, and spoke slowly: "Eh, le voila! I myself am no good to rread les journaux anglais--les feuilletons. If you so kine vil be to me, monsieur, an' rread de Mystère Jarleesterre, I vil to you explin moch, eh! Il est bien entendu."