Street--perhaps you know him, sir?"

"Not at all!" answered Levendale. "Never heard of him."

"He was well known in this part of the town," remarked Ayscough, quietly.
"Well, sir--Mr. Multenius was found dead in his back-parlour yesterday
afternoon, about five-thirty, by this young man, Mr. Lauriston, who
happened to look in there, and I myself was on the spot a few minutes
later. Your book--for it's certainly the same--was lying on the table in
the parlour. Now, this other young man, Mr. Rubinstein, is a relation of
Mr. Multenius's--from enquiries he's made, Mr. Levendale, it's a fact that
the book was neither pawned nor sold at Multenius's, though it must
certainly have been brought there between the time you lost it and the
time we found the old gentleman lying dead. Now, we--the police--want to
know how it came there. And so--I've come round to you. What can you tell
me, sir?"

Levendale, who had listened to Ayscough with great--and, as it seemed to
Lauriston, with very watchful--attention, pushed aside a letter he was
writing, and looked from one to the other of his callers.

"Where is my book?" he asked.

"It's all right--all safe, mister," said Melky. "It's locked up in a
cupboard, in the parlour where it was found, and the key's in my pocket."

Levendale turned to the detective, glancing again at Ayscough's card.

"All I can tell you, sergeant," he said, "is--practically--what I've told
the public in my advertisement. Of course, I can supplement it a bit. The