perhaps in a city of the Far East.

His investigation of the case of the man with the shaven skull
afforded an instance of this, and even more notable was his first
meeting with Major Jack Ragstaff of the Cavalry Club, a meeting
which took place after the office had been closed, but which led
to the unmasking of perhaps the most cunning murderer in the
annals of crime.

One summer's evening when the little clock upon his table was
rapidly approaching the much-desired hour, Harley lay back in his
chair and stared meditatively across his private office in the
direction of a large and very handsome Burmese cabinet, which
seemed strangely out of place amid the filing drawers,
bookshelves, and other usual impedimenta of a professional man. A
peculiarly uninteresting week was drawing to a close, and he was
wondering if this betokened a decreased activity in the higher
criminal circles, or whether it was merely one of those usual
quiescent periods which characterize every form of warfare.

Paul Harley, although the fact was unknown to the general public,
occupied something of the position of an unofficial field marshal
of the forces arrayed against evildoers. Throughout the war he
had undertaken confidential work of the highest importance,
especially in regard to the Near East, with which he was
intimately acquainted. A member of the English bar, and the last
court of appeal to which Home Office and Foreign Office alike
came in troubled times, the brass plate upon the door of his
unassuming premises in Chancery Lane conveyed little or nothing
to the uninitiated.