was Joe, who was "done in in the dark." I knew them all. The weird
"Museum Archives" had told me all about them; and as to the rest of that
grisly company, strangers to me as yet, the neatly written,
Russia-bound volume that Challoner had left would give me their
histories too.

It was some days before I was able to resume my reading of the uncanny
little book, but an unoccupied evening at length gave me the
opportunity. As ten o'clock struck, I put on my slippers, adjusted the
light, drew an armchair up to my study fire and opened the volume at the
place marked by the envelope that I had inserted at the end of the last
reading. The page was headed "Circumstances attending the acquirement of
Numbers Five and Six," and the account ran as follows:

"The most carefully conceived plans, when put into practice, are apt to
discover unforeseen defects. My elaborate plan for the capture of
burglars was no exception to the rule. The idea of employing palpably
dishonest servants to act as decoy ducks to lure the burglars on to the
premises was an excellent one and had fully answered my expectations.
But it had a defect which I had overlooked. The burglars themselves,
when reduced to a condition suitable for exhibition in a show-case,
were entirely innocuous. There was no danger of their making any
indiscreet statements. But with the servants--female servants, too--it
was quite otherwise. From the shelter of my roof they had gone forth to
sow distrust and suspicion in quarters where perfect confidence and
trustfulness should prevail. It was a most unfortunate oversight. Now,
when it was too late, I saw clearly that they ought never to have left
me. I ought to have added them to the collection, too.

"The evil results of the mistake soon became apparent. I had replaced