"You may go," said he, and seating himself at the desk, proceeded to
an examination of his newly acquired property. The newspapers in
the scrap basket, mainly copies of the Evening Register, seemed to
contain, upon cursory examination, nothing germane to the issue.
But, scattered among them, the searcher found a number of fibrous
chips. They were short and thick; such chips as might be made by
cutting a bamboo pole into cross lengths, convenient for carrying.

"The 'spirit-wand,"' observed Average Jones with gusto. "That was
the 'little package,' of course."

Next, he turned his attention to the desk. It was bare, except for
a few scraps of paper and some writing implements. But in a crevice
there shone a glimmer of glass. With a careful finger-nail Average
Jones pushed out a small phial. It had evidently been sealed with
lead. Nothing was in it.

Its discoverer leaned back and contemplated it with stiffened
eyelids. For, upon its tiny, improvised label was scrawled the
"Mercy sign;" mysterious before, now all but incredible.

For silent minutes Average Jones sat bemused. Then, turning in a
messenger call, he drew to him a sheet of paper upon which he slowly
and consideringly wrote a few words.

"You get a dollar extra if this reaches the advertising desk of the
Register office within half an hour," he advised the uniformed
urchin who answered the call. The modern mercury seized the paper
and fled forthwith.