In such a London, on such a day, about ten o'clock in the morning, three
persons whose appearance distinguished them from the ordinary
passers-by, turned into a narrow thoroughfare not far from the Strand.

"Quite worth while going to hear John Steele conduct for his client, I
assure you!" observed one, a tall, military-looking man, who walked with
a slight limp and carried a cane. "He's a new man, but he's making his
mark. When he asked to be admitted to the English bar, he surprised even
his examiners. His summing-up in the Doughertie murder case was, I heard
his lordship remark, one of the most masterly efforts he ever listened
to. Just tore the circumstantial evidence to pieces and freed his man!
Besides his profession at the bar, he is an unusually gifted
criminologist; takes a strong personal interest in the lowest riffraff;
is writing a book, I understand--one of the kind that will throw a new
light on the subject."

"Just what is a criminologist?" The speaker, a girl of about eighteen,
turned as she lightly asked the question, to glance over her shoulder
toward several persons who followed them.

"One who seeks to apply to the criminal the methods of psychology,
psychiatry and anthropology," he answered with jesting impressiveness.

She laughed. "But you said this Mr. Steele comes from our part of the
world, did you not, Captain Forsythe?"

"So I understand, Miss Jocelyn. Not much of a person to talk about
himself, don't you know,"--tentatively stroking an imposing pair of
mustaches, tinged with gray,--"but he has mentioned, I believe, living