rubber tires, which is a most unusual thing for the typical growler. The
author of all this information says that the struggle appeared to be of
no very desperate nature, for it was followed by nothing in the way of a
call for help. Indeed, the workman who is telling all this seemed to
think that it was more or less in the way of what he calls a spree. He
said nothing whatever to the police about it, fearing perhaps that he
himself was in no fit state to tell a story; and, besides, there was just
the possibility that he might find himself figuring before a magistrate
the next morning. That is the whole of the letter, Gurdon, which though
it conveys very little to the authorities, is full of pregnant
information for ourselves. At any rate, it tells us quite clearly that
Fenwick was at the bottom of this outrage."

"Quite right," Gurdon said. "The little touch about the Portuguese
language proves that. Is there anything else in the letter likely to be
useful to us?"

"No, I have given you the whole of it. Personally, the best thing we can
do is to go and interview the writer, who has given his name and address.
A small, but judicious, outlay in the matter of beer will cause him to
tell us all we want to know."

It was somewhere in the neighborhood of the Docks where the man who had
given his name as James Taylor was discovered later on in the day. He was
a fairly intelligent type of laborer, who obtained a more or less
precarious livelihood as a docker. As a rule, he worked hard enough four
or five hours a day when things were brisk, and, in slack periods when
money was scarce, he spent the best part of his day in bed. He had one
room in a large tenement house, where the friends found him partially
dressed and reading a sporting paper. He was not disposed to be