articles. There seems to be no indication of anything having been
tampered--" He stopped short, his eyes upon a huge vellum covered tome
which lay open upon the floor. He whistled softly between his teeth.
"General Wayne once more!" he said.

The volume, as far as Pendleton could see, was a sort of scrap book in
which had been fastened a great number of prints. Upon the two pages
that they could see, six prints had been affixed by the corners. Of
these, four had been torn out and lay upon the floor.

"Gambetta and John Bright have been spared," said Ashton-Kirk,
pointing at the book, "but," and he gathered up the fragments of the
mishandled prints, "upon Mad Anthony they laid violent hands four
separate times."

Pendleton wrinkled his brow.

"Now what the deuce can it mean," he asked, vexedly. "Not only what
did the fellow mean who did this, but what did _he_ mean," pointing at
the dead man, "by having so many portraits of General Wayne?"

"I think something might be found to point the way if we could only
look for it," said Ashton-Kirk, his face alight with eagerness. "But
we'll have to await the coroner's people."

"When will they come?"

The investigator shrugged his shoulders.

"Probably not for hours," he answered. "However, as the coroner