Thirteen THE AMERICAN VISITOR

Superintendent¹ Battle replaced the sheet with the slightly crestfallen² air ofa man whose best point has fallen flat. Anthony stood with his hands inhis pockets lost in thought.
“So that’s what old Lollipop³ meant when he talked about ‘other means,’
” he murmured at last.
“I beg your pardon, Mr. Cade?”
“Nothing, Superintendent. Forgive my abstraction. You see I—or rathermy friend, Jimmy McGrath, has been very neatly⁴ done out of a thousandpounds.”
“A thousand pounds is a nice sum of money,” said Battle.
“It isn’t the thousand pounds so much,” said Anthony, “though I agreewith you that it’s a nice sum of money. It’s being done that maddens me. Ihanded over that manuscript like a little woolly lamb. It hurts, Superin-tendent, indeed it hurts.”
The detective said nothing.
“Well, well,” said Anthony. “Regrets are vain, and all may not yet be lost.
I’ve only got to get hold of dear old Stylptitch’s reminiscences betweennow and next Wednesday and all will be gas and gaiters.”
“Would you mind coming back to the Council Chamber⁵, Mr. Cade?
There’s one little thing I want to point out to you.”
Back in the Council Chamber, the detective strode at once to the middlewindow.
“I’ve been thinking, Mr. Cade. This particular window is very stiff; verystiff indeed. You might have been mistaken in thinking that it wasfastened. It might just have stuck. I’m sure—yes, I’m almost sure, that youwere mistaken.”
Anthony eyed him keenly.
“And supposing I say that I’m quite sure I was not?”
“Don’t you think you could have been?” said Battle, looking at him verysteadily.
“Well, to oblige you, Superintendent, yes.”
Battle smiled in a satisfied fashion.
“You’re quick in the uptake, sir. And you’ll have no objection to sayingso, careless like, at a suitable moment?”
“None whatever. I—”
He paused, as Battle gripped his arm. The superintendent was

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