ascended the staircase to a higher floor, and there he waited on the landing.

CHAPTER XV.

THE inspector stationed himself at an angle of the balustrade from which he could easily command a view of the two stories below. A few persons passed up and down the staircase; an office-door on either side of him would be opened and closed to allow of egress or admittance to some visitor or an employé; and from time to time a junior clerk who, as the inspector made his appearance, was just finishing a cigarette upon the landing, would put his head out of a doorway and examine the new-comer's back with marked inquisitiveness. Mr. Byde could on occasion see all round him simultaneously

or at least could make you think he had that gift; the fact has been already remarked elsewhere. When it suited him to do so, therefore, he detected the young gentleman in one of these examinations, and, with a half-salute to him and half a phrase, conveyed politely that his presence on that spot had no reference to the young gentleman's firm. The junior clerk, with the true courtesy of his nation-in flute-like tones, and with a gesture full of grace-invited the inspector to avail himself of the bench placed there gratuitously for the general use; and, returning amongst his colleagues, told them that the loutish imbecile who looked like a foreigner was still hanging about the palier, outside, in a suspicious

manner.

At length Mr. Byde's patience met with its reward. The Vicomte de Bingham, personally, issued from the Bureau for the "achat des créances à l'étranger," down

No one had

He accord

stairs, and descended towards the street. an eye upon the inspector at this moment. ingly lost no time in pulling a large silk scarf out of an inner coat pocket, and in adjusting it to form a kind of not ineffectual disguise. He bound his face up with the scarf, and tied the ends in a knot at the crown of his head. This done, he pushed his handkerchief inside the scarf at one side of his face, pulled his hat down firmly, and turned up the high collar of his overcoat. On his way down he necessarily repassed the dentist's showcase on the first floor. M. Melliflu himself had just shown a lacerated patient to the top of the stairs, and as he caught sight of the inspector's bent shoulders and bound-up head, that odontalgic expert-thought the inspector"looked extractions at him."

The stylish black Inverness cape by which it would not be difficult to identify the retreating form of Mr. Bingham proved at first undiscernible, when the inspector cautiously stepped out into the street. On neither hand was it to be seen. His view of the corner, over the way, at which he had perceived, restlessly pacing to and fro, Vine, alias Grainger, alias Sir John, was intercepted for the moment by the lines of vehicular traffic. The same fact, however, sheltered his own person from observation. Presently he detected the black Inverness cape hastening away from the Rue des Petits Champs by the street which traversed that thoroughfare. At Mr. Bingham's side strode the erect figure of Sir John.

It didn't surprise him in the least, reflected Mr. Byde -no, not in the least, upon his word and honour. The very clever people who made so many mistakes would have guessed at it right off, certainly. Toppin would have jumped at the conclusion without the shadow of a

query, if Toppin had but known what he knew as to old Ben Byers. But, at the best of times, guesses were hazardous; and they might all have gone extremely wrong upon their obvious guesses. Now-what had led him strongly to connect the personality of Benjamin with this matter? What had brought him down to Benjamin's office? What had placed within his reach that piece of ostensibly indirect evidence which he now carried in his waistcoat-pocket--what had put him actually upon the path of one of the suspicious characters urgently "wanted"? What? Why-remembered the inspector, as he warily dogged the footsteps of the companions in front of himwhat but a process of pure logical induction?"

He did his best to reconstruct his written argument of the previous night. As he had expressed them, the relations of A to B and C led up inexorably, the inspector flattered himself, to the hypothetical functions of X and Y "to find, etc." And, having applied his reasoning in a rigidly practical manner, having proceeded logically from A himself, here we were already trotting at the heels of someone whom we might rationally infer to be either X or Y. How they cleared the mind, these formulas and symbols, meditated Mr. Byde. He would not deny that his colleagues who never used a single symbol, or any formula, could not have arrived at exactly the same result with a lapse of time precisely commensurate. But their methods were impressionist, not scientific. Any incident or fact of evidence which conflicted with their irrational treatment of inquiries could not positively be measured, and tested at once, and at once accepted or discarded; no, they must be always noting, always keeping matters in suspension, always multiplying side-issues, always losing themselves in the trite assumptions of officialism. Half

their time they spent in dangling after false clues. How could it be otherwise, on a procedure by "rule of thumb”? They succeeded-yes, they succeeded! But they also failed. Give them something to do outside the common run of criminal cases! Give them a problem to solve in regions of pure reason-["regions of pure reasonregions of pure reason," muttered the inspector, with great gusto "one of the boy's phrases, I think; ah, if I had had the education which that boy has had!"]—take them out of the routine where their experience of the criminal classes was backed up by the "from information I received," and how many successes would be scored by the majority of his colleagues? Acting solely in pursuance of his impressions, a sharp colleague might have landed upon Vine, alias Grainger, through the involuntary agency of Bingham-yes, he would not affirm the contrary. But it would be guess-work, mere empirics, you might say. Could that colleague convince another mind, as he had convinced his own? Ha! It was not enough to feel sure that you were right; you had to convince third persons that you were right. And on the impressionist method how could you do this? Impressionism was individual. Your own impressions might be accurate; but the persons who in the end were called on to decide (and who might incidentally pronounce upon your conduct) they might be constitutionally unfitted to receive the same species of impressions. Whereas a scientific method cleared the head and shaped the judgment; imparted confidence to the inquirer, and wrung acquiescence from the most unwilling of lookers-on; climbing to an irrefragable conclusion through irrefutable steps.

The foregoing is the inspector's language, and the reader will anticipate us in a smile at the "irrefragable

conclusion" which is attained by climbing "through irrefutable steps." These were elegances of diction and proprieties of metaphor due in great part to the evening class on rhetoric at the institute in Camberwell. The inspector had interested himself in numerous branches of the institute's curriculum. Some of the hebdomadal classes he had followed for thirteen consecutive weeks! Those who enjoy the privilege of his acquaintance will admit that Mr. Byde is a man of undoubted natural parts. At the same time it has been urged by certain of his private friends, among themselves, that the art of rhetoric, the paleozoic period, the Aryan race, elementary physics, and Barbara, Celarent, Darii, Ferioque, turned up too often in his familiar conversation. Topics of that sort, have commented certain of his private friends, would be more suitably gone into with his son, who understands them. And, indeed, the inspector will sometimes talk so learnedly upon subjects taught, in the evening, at the institute at the corner of the Terrace, that we should despair altogether of transcribing his occasional utterances. Extremely fortunate must it be esteemed that in narrating the part he played in the Wilmot inquiry (Park Lane) there should be no necessity of toiling after him up any acclivity more precipitous than the rising ground of Book I. of "Euclid's Elements."

"Q.E.D." was the inspector's rather premature comment as he observed Monsieur de Bingham pull up at a café and suddenly cast a searching look around and behind him. In the dusk it had been difficult, remaining at a safe distance in their rear, to keep the two figures ahead always in view. Mr. Byde could see, however, that their intention was to enter the café. That preliminary glance by grandpa, thought Mr. Byde, spoke volumes. It