already destroyed one life, threatened another, and might envisage
further horrors. Small wonder, then, if the Chief Inspector's usually
cheerful face was clouded, or that his hopes should be somewhat dashed
when Furneaux seemed to lack the abounding confidence which was his most
marked characteristic.

"You've got something, I see," he said, trying to speak encouragingly,
and glancing at the bundle of clothing which Furneaux had wrapped in a
newspaper before dropping from the bedroom window of Siddle's house.

"Yes, a lot. What to make of it is the puzzle. We either go ahead on the
flimsiest of evidence or I carry out another housebreaking job this
afternoon and restore things in status quo. First, the bundle--an old
covert-coating overcoat and a pair of frayed trousers which probably
draped Owd Ben's ghost. They've been soaked in turpentine, which, chemist
or no chemist, is still the best agent for removing stains. We'll put 'em
under the glass after we've examined the book. Siddle keeps a sort of
diary, a series of jumbled memoranda. If we can extract nutriment out of
that we may have something tangible to go upon. Let's begin at the end."

Opening the leather-bound note-book, Furneaux stood with his back to the
window. Winter, owing to his superior height, could look over the lesser
man's shoulder. Many an occult document affecting the famous crimes and
social or dynastic intrigues of the previous decade had these two
examined in that way, the main advantage of scrutiny in common being that
they could compare readings or suggested readings without loss of time,
and with the original manuscript before both pairs of eyes.

In the first instance, there were no dates--only scraps of sentences, or
comments. The concluding entry in the book was: