"I locked it after the last performance, and, unless you've been up to any monkey tricks, Tomlin, the duds are there yet." "You're bitin' me 'ead off all the mornin', Fred," protested the aggrieved landlord.

"Fust, the gin was wrong, an' now I'm supposed to 'ave rummidged yur box.

Wot for ?" Furneaux popped in.
"My bill ready ?" he squeaked.
"No, sir.

The train--" "Leaves at two, but I'm driving to Knoleworth with Superintendent Fowler." The door closed behind him.

Tomlin shook his head.
"Box! Jack-in-the-box, I reckon," he said darkly, turning to a dog-eared ledger.
Neither at Knoleworth nor Victoria did Ingerman catch sight of the detective, though he was anxious either to make the journey in the company of the representative of Scotland Yard or arrange an early appointment with him.