place with the broken window."

"What window? What cue?" asked his principal assistant.
"Why, what proof is there that this has anything to do with them?"

Valentin almost broke his bamboo stick with rage.

"Proof!" he cried. "Good God! the man is looking for proof!
Why, of course, the chances are twenty to one that it has nothing
to do with them. But what else can we do? Don't you see we must
either follow one wild possibility or else go home to bed?" He
banged his way into the restaurant, followed by his companions,
and they were soon seated at a late luncheon at a little table,
and looked at the star of smashed glass from the inside. Not that
it was very informative to them even then.

"Got your window broken, I see," said Valentin to the waiter
as he paid the bill.

"Yes, sir," answered the attendant, bending busily over the
change, to which Valentin silently added an enormous tip. The
waiter straightened himself with mild but unmistakable animation.

"Ah, yes, sir," he said. "Very odd thing, that, sir."

"Indeed?" Tell us about it," said the detective with careless
curiosity.

"Well, two gents in black came in," said the waiter; "two of
those foreign parsons that are running about. They had a cheap