The Mystery of the Clasped Hands: A Novel

  CHAPTER XIII

  Jacob Burrell sat in his comfortable armchair and took counsel withhimself. He was a bachelor, and like many other bachelors was wedded toa hobby, which in some respects was more to him than any wife couldpossibly have been. In other words he was an enthusiastic philatelist,and his collection of the world's stamps was the envy of everyenthusiast who came in contact with them. For Jacob Burrell theypossessed another interest that was quite apart from their mereintrinsic value. A very large number of the stamps so carefully pastedin the book had been collected, or had come into his possession, in theperformance of his professional duties. A very rare 1-1/4 schilling blueHamburg was picked up by the merest chance on the same day that he ran anotorious bank swindler to earth in Berlin; while a certain blue andbrown United States, worth upward of thirty pounds, became his propertyduring a memorable trip to America in search of a fraudulent trustee,whose whereabouts the officials of Scotland Yard had not been able todiscover. Well-nigh every page had a story of its own to tell, and whenBurrell was in the humour, he could, with the book before him, reel offtale after tale, of a description that would be calculated to make thelistener's hair stand on end with astonishment. At the present moment hewas occupied, as he very well knew, with one of the most knotty problemshe had ever tackled in his life. His face wore a puzzled expression. Inhis right hand he held a large magnifying glass and in his left aCanadian stamp of the year 1852. But whether it was the case he wasthinking of or the stamp it would have been difficult to say.

  "Genuine or not?" he asked himself. "That's the question. If it's thefirst, it's worth five pounds of any man's money. If it's a fudge, thenit's not the first time I've been had, but I'll take very good carethat, so far as the gentleman is concerned who sold it to me, it shallbe the last."

  He scrutinized it carefully once more through the glass and then shookhis head. Having done so he replaced the doubtful article in theenvelope whence, he had taken it, slipped the glass back into itschamois-leather case, tied the tape round the handle as deliberately asif all his success in life depended on it, put both book and glass awayin a drawer, and then proceeding to the sideboard on the other side ofthe room, slowly and carefully mixed himself a glass of grog. It wasclose upon midnight and he felt that the work he had that day completedentitled him to such refreshment.

  "Good Heavens," he muttered as he sipped it, "what fools some men canbe!"

  What this remark had to do with the stamp in question was not apparent,but his next soliloquy made his meaning somewhat more intelligible.

  "If he had wanted to find himself in the dock and to put the rope roundhis neck he couldn't have gone to work better. He must needs standtalking to the girl in the Strand until she cries, whereupon he calls acab and drives home with her, gets out of it and takes up a position inthe full light of a gas lamp, so that the first policeman who passes mayhave a look at his face, and recognise him again when the proper timecomes. After that he hurries back to his hotel at such a pace that hearrives in a sufficiently agitated condition to stand in need ofbrandy. Why, it's an almost unbelievable list of absurd coincidences.However, he didn't commit the crime, that's quite certain. I've had abit of experience in my time, and I don't know that I've ever made amistake about a human face yet. There's not a trace of guilt in his.To-morrow morning I'll just run round to the scene of the murder andbegin my investigations there. Though the Pro's have been over theground before me, it will be strange if I can not pick up something thathas not been noticed by their observant eyes."

  A perpetual feud existed between the famous Jacob Burrell and thegenuine representatives of the profession. His ways were unorthodox, thelatter declared. He did not follow the accustomed routine, and what wasworse, when he managed to obtain information it was almost, if notquite, impossible to get him to divulge it for their benefit. Such a mandeserved to be set down on every possible opportunity.

  True to the arrangement he had made with himself on the previousevening, Burrell immediately after breakfast next morning set out forBurford Street. On reaching No. 16 he ascended the steps and entered thegrimy passage, and inquired from a man he found there where thelandlord was to be discovered. In reply the individual he interrogatedwent to the head of a flight of stairs that descended like an abyss intothe regions below, and shouted something in German. A few moments laterthe proprietor of the establishment made his appearance. He was a smallsallow individual with small bloodshot eyes, suggestive of an unduepartiality for Schnapps, and the sadness of whose face gave one theimpression that he cherished a grievance against the whole world. Hissleeves were rolled up above the elbows, and he carried a knife in onehand and a potato in the other.

  "Vat is dat you vant mit me?" he inquired irritably, as he took stock ofthe person before him.

  "I want you to show me the room in which that Italian girl, TeresinaCardi, was murdered," Burrell replied, without wasting time.

  The landlord swore a deep oath in German.

  "It is always de murder from morning until night," he answered. "I amsick mit it. Dat murder will be the ruin mit me. Every day der issomebody come and say 'Where is dot room?' Who are you that you ask methat I should to you show it?"

  Burrell, to the best of his ability, explained his motive for profferingsuch a request. This must have been satisfactory, for in the end thelandlord consented to conduct him to the room in question. From the dayof the murder it had been kept locked, and it must be confessed thatsince no one would inhabit it, and it did not in consequence return itsowner its accustomed rent, he had some measure of excuse for theirritation he displayed in connection with it.

  "Dere it is," he said, throwing the door open, "and you can look yourfull at it. I have scrubbed all dot floor dill my arms ache mit it, butI can not get der blood marks out. Dot stain is just where she wasfound, boor girl!"

  The man pointed, with grizly relish, to a dark stain upon the floor, andthen went on to describe the impression the murder and its attendantincidents had produced upon him. To any other man than Burrell, theywould probably have been uninteresting to a degree. The latter, however,knowing the importance of little things, allowed him to continue hischatter. At the same time his quick eyes were taking in the characterof the room, making his own deductions and drawing his own inferences.At last, when the other had exhausted his powers of description, Burrelltook from his pocket his favourite magnifying glass, cased in itscovering of chamois leather. Having prepared it for business, he wentdown on his hands and knees and searched the floor minutely. What he waslooking for, or what he hoped to find, he did not know himself, but alife's experience had taught him that clews are often picked up in themost unexpected quarters.

  "I've known a man get himself hanged," he had once been heard to remark,"simply because he neglected to put a stitch to a shirt button and hadafterward to borrow a needle and thread to do it. I remember another whohad the misfortune to receive a sentence of fifteen years for forgery,who would never have been captured, but for a peculiar blend of tobacco,which he would persist in smoking after the doctors had told him it wasinjurious to his health."

  So slow and so careful was his investigation, that the landlord, whopreferred more talkative company, very soon tired of watching him.Bidding him lock the door and bring the key downstairs with him when hehad finished, he returned to the culinary operations from which he hadbeen summoned. Burrell, however, still remained upon his knees on thefloor, searching every crack and crevice with that superb andnever-wearying patience that was one of his most remarkablecharacteristics. It was quite certain, as the landlord had said, thatthe floor had been most thoroughly and conscientiously scrubbed sincethe night of the murder. He rose to his feet and brushed his knees.

  "Nothing there," he said to himself. "They've destroyed any chance of myfinding anything useful."

  Walking to the fireplace he made a most careful examination of thegrate. Like the floor, it had also been rigorously cleaned. Not avestige of ash or dust remained in it.

  "Polis
hed up to be ready for the newspaper reporters, I suppose," saidBurrell sarcastically to himself. "They couldn't have done it better ifthey had wanted to make sure of the murderer not being caught."

  After that he strolled to the window and looked out. The room, as hasalready been stated elsewhere, was only a garret, and the small windowopened upon a slope of tiled roof. Above the eaves and at the bottom ofthe slope just mentioned, was a narrow lead gutter of the usualdescription. From the window it was impossible, unless one leaned wellout, to look down into the street below.

  "Just let me think for a moment," said Burrell to himself, as he stoodlooking at the roofs of the houses opposite; "the night of the murderwas a warm one, and this window would almost certainly be open. Isuppose if the people in the houses on the other side of the way hadseen or heard anything, they would have been sure to come forward beforenow. The idea, however, is always worth trying. I've a good mind to makea few inquiries over there later on."

  As he said this he gave a little start forward, and leaning out of thewindow, looked down over the tiles into the gutter below. A smallfragment of a well-smoked cigarette could just be descried in it.

  "My luck again," he said with a chuckle. "If some reporter or sensationhunter didn't throw it there, which is scarcely likely, I may be on theright track after all. Now who could have been smoking cigarettes uphere? First and foremost I'll have a look at it."

  On entering, he had placed his walking stick on the table in the middleof the room. He turned to get it, and as he did so he took from hispocket a small housewife. His multitudinous experiences had taught himthe advisability of carrying such an article about with him, and on thisoccasion it promised to prove more than ordinarily useful. From onecompartment he selected a long, stout needle which he placed in a holein the handle of the walking stick. Then returning once more to thewindow, and leaning well out, he probed for the cigarette lying sosnugly five or six feet below him. Twice he was unsuccessful, but thethird attempt brought the precious relic to his hand. Taking it to thetable, he drew up a chair and sat down to examine it. It was sodden anddiscoloured, but the rim of the gutter had in a measure protected it,and it still held together. His famous magnifying glass was againbrought into action. Once upon a time there had been printing on thepaper, but now it was well-nigh undecipherable. As I have alreadyremarked, however, Burrell was a man gifted with rare patience, andafter a scrutiny that lasted some minutes, he was able to make outsufficient of the printing to know that the maker's name ended with"olous," while the place in which the cigarette had been manufacturedwas _Cairo_.

  "I wonder," said the detective to himself, "if this is destined to be ofany service to me. At first glance it would appear as if my firstimpression was a wrong one. Mr. Henderson, who is accused of the murder,has lately returned from Cairo. Though, perhaps he never purchased anytobacco there, it would certainly do him no good to have it produced asevidence, that the butt end of a cigarette from that place was found inthe gutter outside the window of the murdered woman's room."

  After another prolonged inspection of the room, and not until he hadquite convinced himself that there was nothing more to be discovered init, he descended to the lower regions of the house, returned the key tothe landlord, and immediately left the building. Crossing the street, hemade his way to the house opposite. The caretaker received him, andinquired the nature of his business. He gave his explanation, but a fewquestions were sufficient to convince him that he must not expect toreceive any assistance from that quarter. The rooms, so he discovered,from which it would have been possible to catch any glimpse of what wasgoing on in Teresina's apartment in the opposite house, were tenantedonly in the daytime.

  "Nothing to be learned there," said Burrell to himself, when he hadthanked the man and had left the house. "Now the question to be decidedis, what shall I do next?"

  He stood upon the pavement meditatively scratching his chin for a fewmoments. Then he must have made up his mind, for he turned sharply roundand walked off in the direction of the Tottenham Court Road. Taking a'bus there, he made his way on it to Oxford Street, thence, havingchanged conveyances, he proceeded as far as Regent Street. It was abright, sunny morning, and the pavements of that fashionablethoroughfare were crowded with pedestrians. As the burly,farmerish-looking man strode along, few, if any, of the people he passedwould have believed him to be the great detective whose name had strucka terror, that nothing else could have inspired, into the hearts of somany hardened criminals. When he was a little more than half-way downthe street, he turned sharply to his left hand, passed into another andshorter thoroughfare, then turned to his left again, and finallyentered another street on his right. He was now in the neighbourhood ofquiet-looking houses of the office description. There was nothing aboutthem to indicate that their occupants were the possessors of any greatamount of wealth, and yet one could not help feeling, as one looked atthem, that there was a substantial, money-making air about them. Havingreached a particular doorway, Burrell paused, consulted the namesengraved upon the brass plate on the wall outside, and then entered. Hefound himself in a small hall, from which a narrow flight oflinoleum-covered stairs led to the floors above. These stairs heascended, to presently find himself standing before a door on which thenames of Messrs. Morris and Zevenboom were painted. Disregarding theword "Private," which for some inexplicable reason was printedunderneath the name of the firm, he turned the handle and entered. Asmall youth was seated at a table in the centre of the apartment, busilyengaged making entries in a large book propped up before him. He lookedup on seeing Burrell, and, in an off-hand fashion, inquired hisbusiness.

  "I want to see Mr. Zevenboom if he's at home," said the latter. "If heis, just tell him, my lad, that I should like to speak to him, willyou?"

  "That's all very well," said the boy with an assurance beyond his years,"but how am I to do it if I don't know your name? Ain't a thoughtreader, am I?"

  "Tell him Mr. Burrell would like to speak to him," said the detectivewithout any appearance of displeasure at the lad's impertinence. "Ifancy he will know who I am, even if you don't!"

  "Right you are, I'll be back in a moment."

  So saying, the lad disappeared into an inner apartment with an air thatseemed to insinuate that if Mr. Zevenboom might be impressed by thestranger, it was certainly more than he was. His feelings receivedrather a shock, however, when his employer informed him in a stagewhisper that Mr. Burrell "_was the great detective_" and made him showhim in at once and not keep him waiting. Jacob was accordingly usheredin, with becoming ceremony, and found himself received by a little man,whose beady black eyes and sharp features proclaimed his nationalitymore plainly than any words could have done.

  "Ah, mein dear friend," said he, "I am glad to see you. It is long sincewe have met, and you are looking as well as ever you did."

  "I am all right, thank you," said Burrell genially. "Thank goodness, inspite of hard work, there's never very much the matter with me."

  Before he seated himself the other went to a cupboard at the back of hisdesk and, having unlocked it, took from it a cigar box, one of a numberof others, which he placed upon the table at his guest's elbow.

  "Try one of these," he said, "you will smoke nothing better in allEurope. I pledge you the word of Israel Zevenboom to that."

  "I can quite believe you," said Burrell, and then mindful of thebusiness that had brought him there, he added, "if there's one man inall London who knows a good cigar I suppose you are that one."

  The little man grinned in high appreciation of the compliment.

  "Cigars or cigarettes, I tell you, it's all the same to me," he said,spreading his hands apart. "There is no tobacco grown, or upon themarket, that I can not put a name to."

  "And you are familiar with all the best makers, I suppose?"

  The other again spread his hands apart as if such a question was not ofsufficient importance to require an answer.

  "I know them all," he continued pompously. "And they all know me. Morri
sand Zevenboom is a firm whose name is famous with them all."

  A pause of upward of half a minute followed this remark, during whichBurrell lit his cigar.

  "And now what can I do for you, my friend?" the other inquired. "I shallbe most happy to oblige you as far as lies in my power. You were verygood to me in de matter of----"

  He paused for a moment. Then he thought better of it and came to asudden stop.

  "Well, in the matter that we both remember," he added finally.

  "I want a little information from you, that I believe it is in yourpower to give," said Burrell, taking a note book from his pocket andfrom it producing the scrap of cigarette he had taken from the gutter ofthe house in Burford Street. He placed it on the desk before hiscompanion.

  "I want you to tell me if you can who are the makers of thesecigarettes, and whether they can be obtained in England?"

  The other took up his glasses and perched them on the end of hisdelicate nose, after which he held the charred fragment of the cigaretteup to the light. This did not seem to satisfy him, so he took it to thewindow and examined it more closely. He turned it over, smelt it,extracted a shred of the tobacco, smelt that, and at last came back tothe table.

  "That cigarette was made by my good friend Kosman Constantinopolous, ofCairo, a most excellent firm, but as yet they have no representatives inEngland. Some day they will have."

  "Where is the nearest place at which these cigarettes can be obtained?"asked Burrell.

  "In Paris--if you like I will give you the address," the other replied,"or better still I will get some for you should you desire to have some.They are expensive but the tobacco is good."

  "I won't trouble you to procure me any just now, thank you," Burrellanswered. "I only wanted to try and fix the maker's name. It comes intosome important business that I am just now at work upon. I suppose Ican rely upon your information being correct? It will make a bigdifference to me."

  "My good friend, you may be quite sure of that," the other answered withpride. "I am Israel Zevenboom, the expert, and after fifty years'experience, should not be likely to make a mistake in such a simplematter as that."

  Then, at Burrell's request, he thereupon wrote down the address of thefirm in Paris, after which the detective thanked him heartily for histrouble and bade him good-bye.

  "To-morrow," said Burrell to himself, "if all goes well, I will take arun down to Mr. Henderson's country seat and make a few inquiries there.After that it looks as if Paris is likely to be the scene of my nextoperations. There are one or two little preliminaries, however, thatmust be settled before I leave England."

  He was as good as his word, and the mid-day train next day landed himupon the platform at Detwich. He inquired how far it was to the Hall,and on being informed of his direction, set off along the High Road at aswinging pace. He was a man who never rode when he could walk, and, hadhe not chosen another profession, it is possible he might have made aname for himself in the athletic world as a pedestrian.

  "It seems a sad thing," he said to himself, as he turned in through thelodge gates and began to cross the park, "that a young gentleman owningsuch a beautiful place as this should be clapped into limbo on a chargeof murder. But here I suppose is what the literary gentlemen call the'Irony of Fate.' However, it's my business to get him out of the scrapehe's in if I can, and not to bother my head about anything else."

  Having reached the house he sent his name in to Mrs. Henderson, andasked for an interview. Her daughter Kitty was with her in the morningroom when the butler entered.

  "Mr. Jacob Burrell?" she said in a puzzled way, looking at the card theman had handed to her. "I don't know the name, do you, Kitty?"

  "Why, yes, mother, of course I do," the girl replied. "How could youforget? He is the famous detective whom the lawyers have engaged to takeup the case for poor Godfrey. Tell him that we will see him at once,Williamson, and show him in here."

  A few moments later Burrell made his appearance and bowed to the twoladies. That he was not at all the sort of individual they had expectedto see was evident from the expressions upon their faces.

  "Doubtless, ladies, you have heard my name and the business upon which Iam engaged," he said, by way of introducing himself.

  They acknowledged that they had done so, and when they had invited himto be seated, inquired what success he had so far met with. He shook hishead cautiously.

  "In these sort of cases you must not expect to succeed all at once," hesaid. Then observing the look upon their faces he added: "You see, Mrs.Henderson, a big case, unless the evidence is very clear andstraightforward, is not unlike a Chinese puzzle, being a lot of littlepieces cut out of one big block. Well, all the little cubes are tippedout upon the floor in confusion, and before you can begin to put themtogether it is necessary to familiarize yourself with the rough outlinesof the parts and to make yourself acquainted with the sizes, shapes, andnumbers of the pieces you have to work with. That done you can beginyour work of putting them together."

  "Mr. Burrell is quite right, mother," Kitty remarked. "We must bepatient and not expect too much at first. We ourselves know thatGodfrey is innocent, and Mr. Burrell will very soon demonstrate it tothe world, I am very sure." Then turning to the detective she continued:"Since you have spared the time to come down here, it is only natural tosuppose that you desire to ask us questions. If so, please do nothesitate to put them. My mother and I will--only too thankfully--do allthat lies in our power to assist you in your work."

  "Well, miss," said Burrell, "I won't deny that there are certainquestions I should like to put to you. In the meantime, however, if youwill allow me, I'll just take a walk round the place, and if I have yourpermission to enter your brother's rooms, it's just possible I may beable to find something that will be of advantage to him there."

  "Go where you please," said Mrs. Henderson. "Heaven knows at such a timewe should place no restrictions upon any one. If you can save my poorboy--I shall be grateful to you forever."

  "Be sure, madam, I will do my best. I can't say more."

  Kitty rose from her chair.

  "Perhaps it would be better for me to show you my brother's studiofirst," she said. "Will you come with me?"

  Burrell followed her out of the room and down the long corridor to theroom in question. Kitty left him there, and for upward of half-an-hourhe remained in the apartment, busily engaged upon what he called"forming his own impressions." After that he passed through the Frenchwindows out into the grounds beyond, had a few minutes' conversationwith some of the men, and, when he had exhausted that portion of thebusiness, returned to the house to find that luncheon had been providedfor him in the library. He thereupon sat down to it and made anexcellent meal. That finished, he was wondering what he should do next,when Kitty entered the room.

  "I hope you have been well looked after, Mr. Burrell," she said. "Youare quite sure there is nothing else you would like?"

  "Nothing at all, thank you," he answered, "unless I might ask you for acigarette?"

  "A cigarette," she replied, with a suggestion of astonishment, for hedid not look like the sort of man who would have cared for anything lessthan a pipe or a strong cigar. "That is very unfortunate, for I amafraid we have not one in the house. My brother Godfrey, you see, neversmokes them, and I remember his saying just before----" she paused for amoment and a look of pain came into her face, "just before this troubleoccurred," she continued, "that the supply he had laid in for hisfriends was exhausted and that he must order some more." Then sheappeared to recollect something, for her face brightened. "Ah!" shecried, "now I come to think of it, we _do_ happen to have a box whichMr. Fensden left here before he went away. If you'll excuse me, I'll getit."

  He thanked her and she left the room, whereupon he walked to the windowand stood looking out upon the lawn, drumming with the fingers of hisright hand upon the pane before him. What his thoughts were at thatmoment will in all probability never be known, but when, a few minuteslater, Kitty returned with a box o
f cigarettes in her hand, he turned togreet her with as much excitement in his face as he had ever been knownto show about anything. The box in question was flat and square, withsome Arabic writing in gold upon the lid and the inscription KosmanConstantinopolous et Cie, Cairo.

  Jacob Burrell may or may not have been a cigarette smoker (for my partI have never seen him with so mild a weed between his lips). I only knowthat on this particular occasion he stood with the cigarette in one handfor some time without lighting it, and the box in the other.

  "Did I understand you to say that Mr. Fensden gave these cigarettes toyour brother?" he inquired at last, after he had turned certain mattersover in his mind.

  "Yes," she replied. "He used to say laughingly that the weakest of allGodfrey's weak points was his dislike to Egyptian cigarettes, and thatif he would only try to cultivate the taste for that tobacco, he wouldbe converted from barbarism to comparative civilization. You have seenMr. Fensden, of course?"

  "I saw him in Court," Burrell replied, apparently without much interest."And now, I think, with your permission, miss, I will return to thestation. I have seen all that is necessary for my purpose here, and amanxious to get back to town as soon as possible. There are severalmatters there that demand my attention." Kitty was silent for a moment.Then she gained her courage and spoke out.

  "Mr. Burrell," she said, laying her hand upon his arm, "I suspect youcan very well imagine what a terrible time of suspense this is for us.As I said this morning, we all know that my brother is innocent of thecrime with which he is charged. But how can we prove it? All our hopesare centred upon you. You have done such wonderful things in the pastthat surely you can bring the real perpetrator of this hideous crime tojustice. Can you not give us even a grain of hope to comfort us? My poormother is fretting herself to a shadow about it."

  "I scarcely know what I can say just yet," he replied. "I, of course,have begun to form my own theories, but they are too unsubstantial asyet for me to be able to pin any faith upon them--much less to allow youto do so. This, however, I will tell you, and any one who knows me willtell you that it is something for me to admit. What I say is that up tothe present moment, I have been more successful than I had dared to hopeI should be. Like yourselves, I have a conviction that your brother isinnocent, and you may believe me when I say that it won't be my fault ifwe can't prove it. May I ask you to rest content with that? I can notsay more."

  "I can not thank you sufficiently for your kindness," she answered."Your words give me fresh hope. May I tell Miss Devereux what you say?"

  "Miss Devereux?" asked Burrell, who for the moment had forgotten theyoung lady in question.

  "It is to Miss Devereux that my brother is engaged," Kitty answered."You may imagine how sad she is. Yet she has been, and still is, sobrave about it."

  "Not braver than you are, I'll be bound," said Burrell gallantly. "Andnow I will wish you good-afternoon."

  He did so, and refusing her offer of a carriage to take him, was soonstriding across the park on his way back to the railway station. As hewalked along he thought of what he had done that day, and of the strangegood fortune that had so far attended his efforts.

  "It is only the merest guess," he said to himself, "and yet it's theold, old story. It is when they think themselves most secure, and thatdetection is impossible, that they are in the greatest danger. At thatpoint some minute circumstance is sufficient to give them away, and it'sall over. This looks as if it will prove another example of the onerule."

  It was nearly five o'clock when he reached London. Arriving there hecalled a hansom and bade the man drive him with all speed to Mr. Codey'soffice. As it happened he was only just in time to catch the lawyer, whowas on the point of leaving.

  "Halloa, Burrell," cried the genial Mr. Codey on seeing him, "you seemexcited. What's the matter now?"

  "I didn't know that I had anything to be excited about," Burrell repliedwith a smile at the lawyer's attempt to draw him out. "I only thought Iwould drop in upon you, sir, to let you know that I am leaving for theContinent first thing to-morrow morning. I may be away a week, possiblya fortnight. I'm not able to put a definite time upon it, for it willall depend upon circumstances."

  "Then I suppose, as usual, you are beginning to find yourself on theright track," the lawyer remarked drily.

  "And, just as usual, sir, I reply that that's as may be," said theother. "I don't deny that I've got hold of a piece of information thatmay eventually put me on the proper line--but I've got to sift itfirst--before I can act upon it. That's why I'm going abroad."

  "Don't be any longer than you can help about it, then," returned thelawyer. "You know when the trial comes off?"

  "As well as you do, sir! That's why I want to get away at once. There'sno time to be wasted--that's if we're to be properly posted."

  "Well, then, good-bye, and may good luck go with you."

  Next morning Burrell, acting on the plan he had made, left London forParis, with the portion of cigarette in his pocket.