Assalamu alaikum brothers and sisters. Sending the reward of Umrah to your departed loved ones or those unable to undertake the journey themselves is a profound expression of love and devotion. At Pure Passage we specialize in performing Umrah on behalf of your sick or deceased family members, ensuring they receive this sacred gift. We understand the challenges and impossibilities some face in embarking on this spiritual journey. The message is here to alleviate the physical and financial burdens, offering a professional and reliable service that takes care of every detail. Let us help you fulfill this obligation for your loved ones with utmost care and attention. Make it happen today, contact Pure Passage and secure this immense reward by performing Umrah on behalf of those close to your heart. Alright guys, welcome back to the channel. If you're new, my name is Bobby, guys, as already expected as promised, today we're going to continue with the Andrew Tate interview on the P.S. Morgan Uncensored show. Yesterday, P.S. Morgan and Andrew Tate discussed the conversion of Andrew Tate to Islam. Today they're going to continue their talk, however today they're going to talk about the Israeli occupation in Palestine. Again, you can think of Andrew Tate, what you will, I personally am not a fan either. However, you cannot deny his reach, you cannot deny his popularity and therefore you cannot deny what he can potentially do for the spread of Islam. I heard it firsthand that many people accepted Islam due to Andrew Tate. Therefore, as Muslims, we shouldn't judge Andrew Tate on his past sins. We all have sinned and moreover, Allah has forgiven his sins. This is it. Who are we to judge them? This in the past, we should focus on the present moment. Now Andrew Tate is a Muslim, alhamdulillah, and now of course we can observe how he represents Islam. In the first part of this video, he did a phenomenal job. Therefore, I'm curious what he has to say about the Palestinian issue. Guys, before we start this video, as always, if you enjoy my work, leave me a thumbs up, subscribe to the channel if you haven't already and check out the links in the description box below to further support. And now, with no further ado, let's have a look. I want to turn to the war between Israel and Hamas in Gaza. What is your view of this war? I think when you call it a war, you're doing a disservice to the people who are having their limbs blown off by some of the most advanced technical weaponry on the planet. It is a genocide and it is disgusting and it doesn't matter which side of the political spectrum you fall on.  I'm very pleasantly surprised, I have to say, because the Tate brothers already issued a statement, if you will, a little talk between Tristan and Andrew Tate on the subject of the Israeli oppression in Palestine. However, in that video, they didn't really take a side. They were talking about the subject being complicated and therefore you could make a case for the Israeli side. You could make a case for the Palestinian side. So they did not take the Palestinian side in this regard. Therefore, now, as I said, I'm very pleasantly surprised, of course, to hear this. Andrew Tate is describing the situation the way that it is. It is not a war after all. What is a war? What classifies a war? Warriors fighting against each other. Two military groups fighting each other. The American army against the Russian army, for example. This would classify as a war. But how can you classify the situation in Palestine as a war? It is absolutely impossible. You look into the creation of the state of Israel. You will see that it was legitimate settlement. That's what it is. There was no war to begin with. Settlers came into the region of Palestine and spread over the years. Now this area has been occupied for over 70 years. During those seven decades, people have been massacred. People have been oppressed. Children have been killed. I don't want to use all the emotional speech here, but this is factual. You can look at the numbers and you will see how many Palestinians have been killed and how many Israelis have been killed in return. So this is not a war by any standard. Kudos to Andrew Tate for speaking the truth.  Which side is waging genocide? The Israelis are genocide in Palestine. And you know it as well as everybody else does. Well, then it seems like your bosses are not allowing you to know it. What do you think of what Hamas did in October the 7th? Why are you starting the story in the middle? I didn't. I just asked you about the wider war. I'm now asking you specifically about Hamas. I cannot professionally answer that question without talking about the context that led up to October 7th. Well, nothing to my mind justifies what happened October the 7th. Nothing justifies what happened before October the 7th appears. This is the exact point. So you're talking to a man. I don't know what answer you expect from me because let's forget the fact I'm a Muslim. You're talking to a man who is fighting oppression to the best of his ability because he believes that the people in charge of the world are enslaving us all to the point where I detriment my own life. I end up in a jail cell because I'm speaking against oppression. Then you're asking me what I would do if my family was going to pieces? You're not in a jail. You're asking me what I would do if another government came along and blew my family to pieces? You weren't put in a jail cell because of any oppression. Absolutely I was. Of course I was.  I would not have been accused if I was not monumentally successful in speaking the truth. Let me ask you again. It's a simple question. Some people can answer it straight away, including pro-Palestinians people. I've had on my program many are very quick to say. P.S. Morgan, The Voice of Reason. That's a very interesting question, but I think you're peddling assaninities. We'll just answer the question. Can somebody do me a favor? Google assaninities and find out if it's a word. I don't know what it means. If it's not, make sure it's added to Webster on top G's orders. Are they a terror group? You're peddling assaninities because I'll tell you why, Pierce. Let me answer the question. Of course you are. It's a simple question. That's like me asking. I'll tell you why I ask. Yeah, the question is absolutely assanine. Of course, why would you ask this question? You're asking the question with a motive. Of course, you want to label and rotate as an extremist, as somebody that is a terror supporter. This way you ask the question. It is not because you are truly interested in finding out if Hamas are terrorists or not. This question is truly assanine. It is useless because what and rotate is saying. And again, he's absolutely right here, of course, is what was the context. So how can you classify Hamas as terrorists? That 70 years of oppression of the Palestinian people. And now just to clarify this as well. I'm not saying that everything that Hamas does is absolutely phenomenal. Absolutely fantastic. But as he mentioned, you have to understand the context here as well. If, for example, the Native Americans after being oppressed, I'm speaking about the early days, would have gotten up and would have defeated the colonizers. This would have been normal. This would have been something that anybody could understand. This wouldn't have been labeled then as terrorism. This is the context. If you have a foreign entity in your country, attacking your country, sure, then you can claim this is terrorism. However, this is Palestinian homeland. The real terrorist per definition is, of course, Israel. Israelis occupied Palestinian lands and bombarded them for seven decades straight. I don't want to repeat myself here, killing civilians on a daily basis, almost. So now you're going to tell me that people, after being oppressed for seven decades, finally stand up to the oppressor and then you're going to label them terrorists. That doesn't make any sense whatsoever.  And yet again, in the same breath I can say, of course, there are some atrocities happening committed by Hamas. No doubts about it. But you can understand the context. You can understand the frustration coming from the Palestinian people and you can understand the response to every action. There is a reaction one plus one equals two.  Let me answer the question. No, of course you are. It's a simple question. That's like me asking. I tell you why I ask. Because the UK, where you were born, prescribes Hamas as a terrorist. You also prescribed me as dangerous to children in schools. Let me explain something to you, Pierce. I don't want to go into too much detail. You can Google this yourself. You can see how the British were involved directly in the creation of Israel. And now those people will call Hamas terrorists. I really value the UK's opinion. If I would sit here and say, is stealing wrong? And you'd say, yes. And I go, ah, but what if the person's stealing is trying to feed their family and they don't, their family are going to die? Is it still wrong? You're trying to take a very nuanced and complicated argument and reduce it down to one sentence, which is failure. You're trying to equate stealing with a mob of terrorists breaking over a border, going to peaceful... Ah, yeah. Sure. Exactly.  He's simply giving you an example. That's basically what is going on. Of course, he just wants to use an example of something that could be considered immoral, such as stealing. No, nobody says that stealing and killing are equal on the immorality scale. It is just an example of something immoral. That is all. Wait a minute. Wait a minute. Let me finish. Going through a border on October the 7th. Oh, October the 7th. And massacring young people at a festival, massacring families in their homes and setting fire to them, cutting their heads off, killing babies. Oh, killing 40 babies. That was true. Well, fine. Were the babies vaccinated? Why are you being flippant? I'm not being flippant. I find that funny. No, but the point I'm making is that... Yeah, you do, man. Don't act like it. Secondly, I don't find that funny. Stop it already. Again, it's a fact. The claim was made that 40 babies got beat. However, there was no proof of that whatsoever, despite the AI images. And ultimately, they had to retract their statements.  Those are fabrications. We are living in a day of social media. Man, just join some telegram groups. You can see all the footage, all the atrocities that are being committed to the Palestinian people. Up until now, I swear, man, I've been on so many telegram groups. I've seen so much atrocities. I've been traumatized for the rest of my life, probably. However, the only Israeli deaths that I saw was a couple of soldiers being shot from the distance. That's it. I haven't seen one dead Israeli civilian, not one of them. I haven't seen any child, any baby, not one of them. On the other hand, if you want to find Palestinian footage of children being massacred, you can find that on mass. There is a never-ending supply of videos of atrocities committed against the Palestinian people. Show me the evidence, man. Show me the videos of the Israelis. Show me the videos of those supposedly slaughtered, killed people at the festival. I haven't seen any footage whatsoever. I'll ask you about different things at the same time, right? Sure. Let me first of all specifically, what is your reaction to what happened on October the 7th? Sure. I'll ask you a question professionally. I do not condone the loss of human life on either side. I think anybody doing anything which directly damages civilians is disgusting and abhorrent. However, I would be an amateur if I could not sit and pretend I do not understand the motivations behind either side. This is not even me taking a side. I understand why Israel is doing what it's doing. I understand why Palestine is doing what it's doing. However, I still call the Israeli actions absolutely abhorrent and genocide. We're going to come to Israel's actions, I promise you. We will ask that question specifically. But in terms of what Hamas did on October the 7th, do you accept that was made to terror? We've got to defend Yisra. It's an interesting question. It's not really. It is. It's a very straightforward question. Because you're the person who would have called Nelson Mandela a terrorist while he was still in jail, and one person's terrorist is another person's freedom fighter. For me to answer the question, yes you would have. For me to answer the question, I had to be very professional Pierce. We sit on the outside in Romania with no personal involvement in Israel-Palestine. It's easy for me to say, yes, it was an act of terror. However, if I was in Gaza, if I was in an open air prison, if my family had been annihilated by bombs from the sky, if everybody I knew had suffered the loss of a loved one, if I had no chance of any kind of freedom or democracy or standard of life, would I believe it was an act of terror or would I believe it's an act of resistance against oppression? You have to be very careful how you answer these questions. So what do you think? It's interesting to hear the apathy in the voice of Pierce Morgan. Andrew Tate is telling him about the bombing, about the genocide, et cetera, et cetera. But it just meets deaf ears, ultimately. He's sitting there. He doesn't care because it does not support his narrative. However, if we're talking about kidnapped and killed ravers on a music techno dance festival, that is really, really important.  Don't you see? To me, it's very fascinating how hearts can just close up. You look at certain atrocities, and you dehumanize those people. You don't see them as real. You're siding with your press, in this case, of course. And every single atrocity that's committed against the Israeli people, it is the worst, of course.  However, if anything happens to the Palestinian people, you do not care. Even though those atrocities are much larger, of course. I showed you the statistics over the years. One last thing I want to say about this segment here when Andrew Tate mentioned that those people don't have democracy. Democracy is a false God as Muslims. We do not need democracy. I think I understand what happens when you take people and put them in such an inhumane condition.  Anyone who does that is an amateur. I can agree with you that the plight of the Palestinians for many decades has been absolutely shamed. So what did we think was going to happen here? Nothing justifies what happened in October. So what are they supposed to do? That was an act of medieval barbaric terrorism. Nothing justifies. So again, he allegedly agrees that the treatment of the Palestinians is atrocious, but then nothing justifies the reaction. That doesn't make sense. This incoherent, this incongruent, this is just bunk. It is senseless, of course, to talk with this man. He wants to tell you, well, the treatment of the Palestinians was really atrocious, but please do not do anything about it.  Probably it is due to Palestinians not having a proper stance on elegy rights. That is probably what it is. You have to become more of a Western humanitarian in order to receive our aid after all.  That is what it is, right? Man, what are you talking about? Yet again, Israel is a mega power. They are being supported by America.   And this is something that you are holding against the Palestinian people that you're holding against Hamas. Hamas does not have that type of money. Therefore, they do not have that type of military. Therefore, they are attacking the way that they can attack. Again, action, reaction. However, they are not equipped as the Israelis are. And now you're going to blame them for severed tree. You don't have nuclear bombs, Hamas.  That's it. Did they suffer acts of medieval barbaric terrorism before that date? Yes, and it's unfortunately an eye for an eye in this world. I'm not condoning. I'm being a professional in answering to why it happened. Give me one example. Israel, without any provocation, went into... No, a specific question. Went into Gaza and massacred 1,500 innocent people, cutting their heads off, taping and boasting about what they'd done back to their families in Israel, kidnapping Holocaust survivors. They wouldn't have done that. Kidnapping old grandmothers and bringing them back to Israel. Kidnapping babies, kidnapping children. What has Israel actually gone in and done something of the scale of October the 7th? That's so extremely annoying, man. His question was, when did Israel ever enter Gaza and killed 1,500 people? First and foremost, we do not have any proof for that. But that being said, let's get back to the statistics one more time. Let's take the year 2014. So 2014, yes, Israel entered Gaza yet again and injured almost 20,000 people, which at least a sixth died. So a sixth of 20,000. That is roughly 3,000 people dead. So there you have it, Piers. Those are the numbers. 2014, Israel enters Gaza, kills over 3,000 people, injures roughly 20,000 people. Is this enough evidence for you? Probably not. Literally endless examples of that. Give me one. In 2014, they were bombing... I'm not talking about what they would categorize as retaliation for rocket strikes. And there's an arguable point. As there is, for example, I'm vehemently against the expansion of the settlements on the West Bank. I think there are legitimate questions about... As I was saying, this guy is a total hypocrite, of course. Now he's against the expansion of the occupation. Okay, when did that opposition start, then, for you, Piers? When were you against this expansion? 1946. This was Palestine. Then it continues. 1947, only 10 years later, the majority is already Israel. Then 1967, 20 years later, pretty much everything is Israel. And 2010, it looks like this. This Piers is a genocide. This Piers is a violent occupation. That's just what it is. You can see the numbers. You can see the expansion here. This is reality. Now you're going to tell us you are against the expansion. So what should they do now? Should they circle back against which part of the occupation are you? Are you for the two-state solution? What are you talking about? This is why it is hypocrisy, of course. You see here that the whole land has been stolen. The whole land has been decimated. And now you're going to ask Andrew Tate if he opposes terrorism. But in terms of what Hamas perpetrated on October the 7th, there is no... October the 7th? October the 7th? No, no, no, no, no. Israel has been attached to the people of Gaza. And you have to accept that. You don't accept that. Okay, so you have to accept that there is nothing the people of Israel have ever done to the people of Gaza. Nothing in comparison. Are you kidding me? We showed you the numbers. We showed you the maps. They took away all of their land. 99% of their land is gone. And now you're going to tell us that there is nothing the Israelis ever did that you can compare to the 7th. You're either the leader or you're deliberately not wanting to say the obvious, which is that was an act of terrorism because you're concerned about upsetting people in Palestine. Sure. British, Western, voice of reason. The golden standard of morality. What? And to ignore all of the context and pretend that you do not understand why said situation happened is in this accent. Nothing justifies terrorism on that scale. Nothing. It is accent. No, it's not. Hamas... Because it's not about justification. Let me tell you why. Yes, it's not about justification. It's about understanding the realities of the world. Let me tell you the realities of the world. Hamas came to power in 2005. Hamas's initial founding chance to power made it clear that they are for the eradication of Israel. And on October the 7th, they proved what that means. Men, da, of course they would be for the eradication of Israel. Isn't that just understandable? Imagine yourself right now living in Britain and now you're going to have a forced immigration, which you do essentially. And now they're taking over your country, renaming your country slowly but surely taking over pieces of your country, changing the demographic of your country, changing the culture of your country and then ultimately 40, 50, 60, 70 years later after being oppressed in your own country, being decimated, being bombarded, being slaughtered, your family members being killed, you actually decide, you know what, we want to get rid of this occupation, this new false state. Do you want to be Great Britain again? Would you then call your fellow Brits terrorists?   They are an existential threat to people in Israel. Jews, left, peace fully in Palestine. Nobody has an issue with them. I also think by doing what they did, as they have done since 2005, they weren't representing innocent Palestinian people in Gaza. They knew, yes, but Hamas knew when they did what they did that Israel would respond the way they did and that thousands of innocent Palestinians would get killed. They knew that and they still did it. So my question for you is why can't you... Yeah, so let's just do nothing. What Hamas did was an act of terror. Look at Israeli missiles, bombing more families. Absolutely despicable act of terror and should be called exactly what it is. And they are now demonstratively a terrorist group. That is why they were rightly prescribed that by the UK and American other countries. To try and pretend they're not makes you sound like a terrorist. I can't think of a worse insult to throw at you, right? I don't think me and Karol agree on that. But I also think there are legitimate questions to come about the way Israel responded. We can come to that, but I just want to ask you one more time. Is what Hamas did on October 7th? Why do you want to know this so much, man?  And this is why liberalism is a religion. I'm sure that P.S. Morgan wouldn't even classify himself as a classical liberal. However, they all have the same talking points and they adhere to western liberal post enlightenment values. That's just what it is. Hey, can you please say it now? Those are terrorists. Say it! It is a religion. You have to adhere to our dogmatic worldview. The atrocities of the World War. It is exactly such and such number. You have to agree with every detail presented by our side of the history. If you don't, you're out of our team. We are all for open-minded thinking. Don't you see? Free speech for everybody. Free speech. Please repeat after me, Hamas terrorists. It is peddling assentries for you to pretend that enslaving people... You sound like Jeremy Corbyn. No, let me answer the question. 15 times he refused to answer the question. Let me answer the question. You're now about three or four. Are they a terror group or not? They're one team's freedom fighter and they're deemed a terrorist group. What do you think? I think that if you lock people in an open-air prison and steal their land, they're going to retaliate. So they're not a terror group? I think they're going to retaliate. They're not a terror group?  Okay, we're now into about eight. Just say it, man. Who cares? Honestly, people are way too scared about their reputation nowadays. Cancel him, cancel him. Just say it already. No, I don't think Hamas is a terrorist group. Here, I did it for you and rotated. Talk to about eight. Are they a terror group? And also, another thing I want to make clear to you, Peter. Only Jeremy Corbyn has done this. Done what? Refused to answer the question. I think that what they are doing is seemingly deemed an act of terror by the people that the terror... Don't use weasley words. They're not weasley. Of course, the Israelis think they're a terror group. I agree. Of course, the Palestinians think they're freedom fighters. I see. You're saying, man. Most of the civilized world thinks they're a terror group. You're more the money in the world, I guess. Terrorism is not difficult. What they did was an act of terror. And I think that if Israel continues to condemn acts of terror on the Palestinian people, they're going to do nothing. I'm going to give you another chance, Andrew. Come to our side. But before I get there, one more time. One last time. Say it. It's a terror group who committed an act of terrorism. I think that when you lock people in an open-air prison, you're going to have to expect retaliation. No, because I have to... There's people who are firstly, first things I want to say, Peter. Do you know what I'm saying? I think it's spineless. Sure. I do. That's fine. You sound like Jeremy Corbyn. Well, that is an insult. Did you see my interview with him? No. Last week. I actually agree with P.S. Morgan.  Of course, he's peddling an agenda, but I have to agree it is spineless. Andrew, just say it. You believe it is an open-air prison and Palestinians have been bombed for seven decades now. Therefore, again, action, reaction. That reaction in the light of those 70 years is a justified reaction in your worldview. This is what you try to say here. Therefore, you do not see Hamas as a terrorist group. That's it. Jim, the same question. Just say it, man. 15 times, he prevaricated and wouldn't answer. Eventually, when someone does that enough times, you know what they really think. Okay. You don't think they're a terrorist group. Let me answer without being interrupted. You don't think they're a terrorist group. No, what I think is this. On certain scenarios... Because I'd be really curious what you think an act of terror is if it's not massacring 1,500 innocent people. It's not 1,400,000. 15 million!  Yeah. Talk about missing limbs. We're going to talk about that when we talk about... We are. It'll be in the context of you not admitting. And again, that's exactly what I said when he's talking about the Israeli casualties, the Israeli deaths, etc. He becomes all emotional and he wants you to see it the same way. Don't you see decapitated babies, etc., etc. You name it. But when Andrew Tate speaks about the Palestinian children, he does not care. It is the hearts that are blind. Let me answer the question for the final time. I am a realist. And as a realist, sometimes you do not come to the conclusion of labeling good guys and bad guys. The world is not black and white. Oh, a mass of bad guys. No, no. The world is not black and white. The world is actually very gray. Anybody who sits and thinks there's clearly a good guy... Nothing great about what... There's nothing great about what a mass kid is. ...and clearly a bad guy does not understand how the world works. And as a realist, what you do is you look at scenarios and you understand why they happen, how unfortunate they are, how unfortunate the loss of human life is, how civilians die on both sides, how innocents are dying in a chess game played by the elites on both sides. Both sides, you have innocent people who didn't even vote for the person making the decisions, who are insuring their death, signing their death warrants. Unfortunate on both sides. But listen, sir, you would not advocate Russia doing any of the things to Ukraine that Israel is doing to Palestine. You would not say here... Sorry, Russia has been doing exactly that. Russia has not done a fraction of the things Ukraine... Russia illegally invaded a sovereign democratic country... Democracy! We love our democracy! ...bombing maternity hospitals, killing innocent women and children.  Don't even compare anything! Alright, we're gonna cut it off here. The video is long enough as it is. If you want to continue watching this interview, you can find it on P.S. Morgan's channel. It is called Andrew Tate Talks Palestine and Israel with P.S. Morgan, the latest interview, Part 2. But I'm gonna cut it off here. I said basically everything I can say on this subject over here. Now use it against me and label me as a terrorist supporter, of course. Guys, if you enjoyed the video, leave it a thumbs up, subscribe to the channel if you haven't already and check out the links in the description box to further support Bobby's perspective. And now, as always, may God bless you all, much love and peace.


Chapter 7 of John Thorndyke's Cases by R. Austin Freeman. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 7 The Aluminium Dagger The urgent call, the instant, peremptory summons to professional duty, is an experience that apportains to the medical rather than the legal practitioner, and I had supposed when I abandoned the clinical side of my profession in favour of the forensic, that henceforth I should know it no more, that the interrupted meal, the broken leisure and the jangle of the nightbell, were things of the past, but in practice it was otherwise. The medical jurist is, so to speak, on the borderland of the two professions, and exposed to the vicitudes of each calling, and so it happened from time to time that the professional services of my colleague or myself were demanded at a moment's notice, and thus it was in the case that I am about to relate. The sacred rite of the tub had been duly performed, and the freshly dried person of the present narrator was about to be insinuated into the first instalment of clothing, when a hurried step was heard upon the stair, and the voice of our laboratory assistant, Poulton, rose at my colleague's door. There's a gentleman downstairs, sir, who says he must see you instantly on most urgent business. He seems to be in a rare Twitter, sir. Poulton was proceeding to descriptive particulars, when a second and more hurried step became audible, and a strange voice addressed Thaundike. I have come to beg your immediate assistance, sir, a most dreadful thing has happened. A horrible murder has been committed. Can you come with me now? I will be with you almost immediately, said Thaundike. Is the victim quite dead? Quite cold and stiff. The police think. Do the police know that you have come for me, interrupted Thaundike? Yes, nothing is to be done until you arrive. Very well, I will be ready in a few minutes. And if you would wait downstairs, sir, Poulton added persuasively, I could help the doctor to get ready. With this crafty appeal he lured the intruder back to the city-room, and shortly after stole softly up the stairs with the small breakfast tray, the contents of which he deposited firmly in our respective rooms, with a few timely words on the folly of, undertaking murders on an empty stomach. Thaundike and I had meanwhile closed ourselves with a celerity known only to medical practitioners and quick-change artists, and in a few minutes descended the stairs together, calling in the laboratory for a few appliances that Thaundike usually took with him on a visit of investigation. As we entered the city-room, our visitor, who was feverishly pacing up and down, seized his hat with a grasp of relief.  And without waiting for an answer he hurried out and rapidly proceeded us down the stairs.  I had better give you some account of the circumstances as we go, said our agitated friend. In the first place my name is Curtis, Henry Curtis, here is my card, ah, and here is another card which I should have given you before. My solicitor, Mr. Marchmont, was with me when I made this dreadful discovery, and he sent me to you. He remained in the rooms to see that nothing is disturbed until you arrive. That was wise of him, said Thaundike, but now tell us exactly what has occurred. I will, said Mr. Curtis. The murdered man was my brother-in-law, Alfred Hartrich, and I am sorry to say he was—well, he was a bad man. It grieves me to speak of him thus demortuous, you know, but still we must deal with the facts, even though they be painful. Undoubtedly agreed Thaundike. I have had a great deal of very unpleasant correspondence with him. Marchmont will tell you about that, and yesterday I left a note for him, asking for an interview to settle the business, naming eight o'clock this morning as the hour because I had to leave town before noon. He replied in a very singular letter, that he would see me at that hour, and Mr. Marchmont very kindly consented to accompany me. Accordingly we went to his chambers together this morning, arriving punctually at eight o'clock. We rang the bell several times, and knocked loudly at the door. But as there was no response, we went down and spoke to the whole porter. This man, it seems, had already noticed from the courtyard that the electric lights were full on in Mr. Hartridge's sitting-room, as they had been all night, according to the statement of the night porter. So now, suspecting that something was wrong, he came up with us and rang the bell and batted at the door. Then as there was still no sign of life within, he inserted his duplicate key and tried to open the door. Unsuccessfully, however, as it proved to be bolted on the inside. Thereupon the porter fetched a constable, and after a consultation we decided that we were justified in breaking open the door. The porter produced a crowbar, and by our unified efforts the door was eventually burst open.  My brother-in-law was lying dead on the floor of the sitting-room. He had been stabbed, stabbed to death, and the dagger had not even been withdrawn. It was still sticking out of his back. He mopped his face with his handkerchief, and was about to continue his account of the catastrophe when the carriage entered a quiet side-street between Westminster and Victoria, and drew up before a block of tall, new, red brick buildings. A flurried-hole porter ran out to open the door, and we alighted, opposite the main entrance. My brother-in-law's chambers are on the second floor, said Mr. Curtis. We can go up in the lift. The porter had hurried before us and already stood with his hand upon the rope. We entered the lift, and in a few seconds were discharged onto the second floor. The porter, with furtive curiosity, following us down the corridor. At the end of the passage was a half-open door considerably battered and bruised. Above the door, painted in white lettering, was the inscription, Mr. Hartridge, and through the doorway protruded the rather foxy countenance of Inspector Badger. I'm glad you have come, sir, said he, as he recognised my colleague. Mr. Marchmont is sitting inside, like a watchdog, and he growls if any of us even walks across the room. The words formed a complaint, but there was a certain geniality in the speaker's manner, which made me suspect that Inspector Badger was already navigating his craft on a lee shore. We entered a small lobby or hall, and from thence passed into the sitting room, where we found Mr. Marchmont keeping his vigil, in company with a constable, and a uniformed Inspector. The three rose softly as we entered and greeted us in a whisper, and then, with one accord, we all looked towards the other end of the room, and so remained for a time without speaking. There was, in the entire aspect of the room, something very grim and dreadful. An atmosphere of tragic mystery enveloped the most commonplace objects, and sinister suggestions lurked in the most familiar appearances. Especially impressive was the air of suspense of ordinary, everyday life suddenly arrested, but short in the twinkling of an eye. The electric lamps still burning dim and red, though the summer sunshine streamed in through the windows. The half-empty tumbler, an open book by the empty chair, had each its whispered message of swift and sudden disaster, as had the hushed voices and stealthy movements of the waiting men, and, above all, an awesome shape that was but a few hours since a living man, and that now sprawled, prone and motionless, on the floor. This is a mysterious affair observed Inspector Badger breaking the silence at length. Though it is clear enough up to a certain point, the body tells its own story. We stepped across and looked down at the corpse. It was that of a somewhat elderly man and lay on an open space of floor before the fireplace, face downwards with the arms extended. The slender hilt of a dagger projected from the back, below the left shoulder and, with the exception of a trace of blood upon the lips, this was the only indication of the mode of death. A little way from the body, a clock-key lay on the carpet, and glancing up at the clock on the mantelpiece, I perceived that the glass front was open. You see, pursued the Inspector, noting my glance. He was standing in front of the fireplace, winding the clock, then the murderer stole up behind him. The noise of the turning key must have covered his movements, and stabbed him, and you see from the position of the dagger on the left side of the back, that the murderer must have been left-handed. That is all clear enough. What is not clear is how he got in, and how he got out again. The body has not been moved, I suppose, said Thorndike. No, we sent for Dr. Egerton, the police surgeon, and he certified that the man was dead. He will be back presently to see you and arrange about the post-mortem. Then, said Thorndike, we will not disturb the body till he comes. Except to take the temperature and dust the dagger hilt. He took from his bag a long registering chemical thermometer and an insuflator or powder blower. The former he introduced under the dead man's clothing against the abdomen, and with the latter blew a stream, a fine yellow powder onto the black leather handle of the dagger. Inspector Badger stooped eagerly to examine the handle, as Thorndike blew away the powder that had settled evenly on the surface. No fingerprints said he in a disappointed tone. He must have worn gloves, but that inscription gives a pretty broad hint. He pointed as he spoke to the metal guard of the dagger, on which was engraved a clumsy lettering, the single word, Traditore. That's the Italian for traitor, continued the inspector. And I got some information from the porter that fits in with that suggestion. We'll have him in presently, and you shall hear. Meanwhile, said Thorndike, as the position of the body may be of importance in the inquiry, I will take one or two photographs and make a rough plan to scale. Nothing has been moved, you say. Who opened the windows? They were open when we came in, said Mr. Marchmont. Last night was very hot, to remember. Nothing whatever has been moved.  He set up the camera in a corner and exposed a plate, taking a general view of the room, and including the corpse. Then he moved to the door and made a second exposure.  Thanks. Keep like that while I expose a plate. I remained thus in the position that the dead man was assumed to have occupied at the moment of the murder. While the plate was exposed, and then, before I moved, Thorndike marked the position of my feet with a blackboard chalk. He next set up the tripod over the chalk marks and took two photographs from that position, and finally photographed the body itself. The photographic operations being concluded, he next proceeded with remarkable skill and rapidity to lay out on the sketch block a ground plan of the room, showing the exact position of the various objects on a scale of a quarter of an inch to the foot, a process that the inspector was inclined to view with some impatience. You don't spare trouble, Doctor, he remarked, nor time either, he added, with a significant glance at his watch. No answer, Thorndike, as he detached the finished sketch from the block. I try to collect all the facts that may bear on a case. They may prove worthless, or they may turn out of vital importance. One never knows beforehand, so I collect them all. But here, I think, is Doctor Egerton. The police surgeon greeted Thorndike with respectful cordiality, and we proceeded at once to the examination of the body. Drawing out the thermometer, my colleague noted the reading and passed the instrument to Doctor Egerton. Dead about 10 hours remarked the latter after a glance at it. This was a very determined and mysterious murder. Very, said Thorndike, feel that dagger, Jervis. I touched the hilt and felt the characteristic grating of bone. It is through the edge of a rib, I exclaimed. Yes, it must have been used with extraordinary force, and you notice that the clothing is screwed up slightly as if the blade had been rotated as it was driven in. That is a very peculiar feature, especially when taken together with the violence of the blow. It is singular, certainly, said Doctor Egerton, though I don't know that it helps us much. Shall we withdraw the dagger before moving the body? Certainly, replied Thorndike. Or the movement may produce fresh injuries. But wait. He took a piece of string from his pocket and, having drawn the dagger out a couple of inches, stretched the string in a line parallel to the flat of the blade. Then, giving me the ends to hold, he drew the weapon out completely. As the blade emerged, the twist in the clothing disappeared. Observe, said he, that the string gives the direction of the wound, and that the cut in the clothing no longer coincides with it. There is quite a considerable angle, which is the measure of the rotation of the blade. Yes, it is odd, said Doctor Egerton, though, as I said, I doubt that it helps us. At present, Thorndike rejoined dryly. We are noting the facts. Quite so, agreed the other, reddening slightly, and perhaps we had better move the body to the bedroom, and make a preliminary inspection of the wound. We carried the corpse into the bedroom, and, having examined the wound without eliciting anything new, covered the remains with a sheet, and returned to the sitting room. Well, gentlemen, said the inspector. You have examined the body and the wound, and you have measured the floor and the furniture, and taken photographs and made a plan, but we don't see much more forward. Here's a man murdered in his rooms. There is only one entrance to the flat, and that was bolted on the inside at the time of the murder. The windows are some 40 feet from the ground. There is no rain pipe near any of them. They are set flush in the wall. And there isn't a foothold for a fly on any part of that wall. The greats are modern, and there isn't room for a good-sized cat to crawl up any of the chimneys. Now, the question is, how did the murderer get in? And how did he get out again? Still, said Mr. Marchmont, the fact is that he did get in, and that he is not here now, and therefore he must have got out, and therefore it must have been possible for him to get out, and further it must be possible to discover how he got out. The inspector smiled sourly, but made no reply. The circumstances, said Thorndike, appeared to have been these. The deceased seems to have been alone. There is no trace of a second occupant of the room, and only one half emptied tumbler on the table. He was sitting reading, when apparently he noticed that the clock had stopped at ten minutes to twelve. He laid his book face downwards on the table, and rose to wind the clock, and as he was winding it, he met his death, by a stab dealt by a left-handed man, who crept up behind him on tiptoe, added the inspector. Thorndike nodded. That would seem to be so, he said, but now let us call in the porter and hear what he has to tell us. The custodian was not difficult to find, being in fact engaged at that moment in a survey of the premises through the slit of the letterbox.  Thorndike asked him, when he entered, looking somewhat sheepish. A good many were in and out of the building, was the answer, but I can't say if any of them came to this flat. I saw Miss Curtis pass in, about nine. My daughter exclaimed Mr Curtis with a start. I didn't know that. She left about nine thirty, the porter added. Do you know what she came about? asked the inspector. I can guess, replied Mr Curtis. Then don't say, interrupted Mr Marchmont. Answer, no questions. You're very close, Mr Marchmont, said the inspector. We are not suspecting the young lady. We don't ask, for instance, if she is left handed. He glanced craftily at Mr Curtis, as he made this remark. And I noticed that our client suddenly turned deftly pale, whereupon the inspector looked away again quickly, as though he had not observed the change. Tell us about those Italians again, he said, addressing the porter. When did the first of them come here? About a week ago was the reply. He was a common looking man, looked like an organ grinder, and he brought a note to my lodge.  The man gave me the note and asked me to give it to Mr Hartridge. Then he went away, and I took the note up and dropped it into the letterbox. What happened next? Why, the very next day, an old hag of an Italian woman, one of them fortune-telling swines, with a cage of birds on a stand, came and set up just by the main doorway. I soon sent her packing, but, bless you, she was back again in ten minutes, birds and all. I sent her off again. I kept on sending her off, and she kept on coming back, until I was regular wore to a thread. You seem to have picked up a bit since then, remarked the inspector with a grin, and a glance at the sufferer's very pronounced bow window. Perhaps I have, the custodian replied haughtily. Well, the next day there was an ice cream man, a regular waster he was, stuck outside as if he was froze to the pavement, kept giving the errand-boys tasters, and when I tried to move him on, he told me not to obstruct his business. Business, indeed. Well, there them boys stuck, one after the other. Wipe him their tongues round the bottoms of them glasses, until I was fit to bust with aggravation, and he kept me going all day. Then the day after that there was a barrel organ with a mangy-looking monkey on it. He was the worst of all. Profane too, he was, kept mixing up sacred tunes and comic songs, Rock of Ages, Bill Bailey, Cougar's Animal, and Over the Garden Wall, and when I tried to move him on, that little blight of a monkey made a run at my leg, and then the man grinned and started playing. Wait till the clouds roll by. I tell you, it was fair sickening. He wiped his brow at the recollection, and the inspector smiled appreciatively. And that was the last of them, said the latter. And as the porter nodded sulkily, he asked, Should you recognise the note that the Italian gave you? I should, answered the porter, with frosty dignity. The inspector, bustled out of the room, and returned a minute later with a letter case in his hand. This was in his breast pocket, said he, laying the bulging case on the table, and drawing up a chair. Now here are three letters tied together. Ah, this will be the one.  Is that the note the Italian gave you? The porter examined it critically. Yes, said he, that is the one. The inspector drew the letter out of the envelope, and, as he opened it, his eyebrows went up. What do you make of that doctor, he said, handing the sheet to Thorndike. Thorndike regarded it for a while in silence with deep attention. Then he carried it to the window, and taking his lens from his pocket, examined the paper closely, first with the low power, and then with the highly magnifying Coddington attachment. I should have thought you could see that with the naked eye, said the inspector, with a sly grin at me. It's a pretty bold design. Yes, replied Thorndike, a very interesting production. What do you say, Mr. Marchmont? The solicitor took the note, and I looked over his shoulder. It was certainly a curious production, written in red ink, on the commonest note paper, and in the same sprawling hand as the address was the following message. You are given six days to do what is just, by the sign above, know what to expect if you fail. The sign referred to was a skull and crossbones very neatly, but rather unskillfully drawn at the top of the paper. This, said Mr. Marchmont, handing the document to Mr. Curtis, explains the singular letter that he wrote yesterday. You have it with you, I think. Yes, replied Mr. Curtis. Here it is. He produced a letter from his pocket and read aloud. Yes, come if you like, though it is an ungodly hour. Your threatening letters have caused me great amusement. They are worthy of Sadler's Wells in its prime. Alfred Hartridge. Was Mr. Hartridge ever in Italy? asked Inspector Badger. Oh yes, replied Mr. Curtis. He stayed at Capri nearly the whole of last year. Why, then? That gives us our clue. Look here. Here are these two other letters. EC Postbock. Saffron Hill is EC. And just look at that. He spread out the last of the mysterious letters, and we saw that. Besides the memento mori, it contained only three words. Beware. Remember Capri. If you have finished, Doctor, I'll be off and have a look round Little Italy. Those four Italians oughtn't to be difficult to find, and we've got the porter here to identify them. Before you go, said Thorndike, there are two little matters that I should like to settle. One is the dagger. It is in your pocket, I think. May I have a look at it? The Inspector rather reluctantly produced the dagger and handed it to my colleague. A very singular weapon this, said Thorndike, regarding the dagger thoughtfully, and turning it about to view its different parts. Singular, both in shape and material. I have never seen an aluminium hilt before, and Bookbinder's Morocco is a little unusual. The aluminium was for lightness, explained the Inspector, and it was made narrow to keep up the sleeve I expect. Perhaps so, said Thorndike. He continued his examination, and presently to the Inspector's delight, brought forth his pocket lens. I never saw such a man, explained the Jaco's detective. His motto ought to be, we magnify thee. I suppose he'll measure it next. The Inspector was not mistaken. Having made a rough sketch of the weapon on his block, Thorndike produced from his bag a folding rule and a delicate caliper gauge. With these instruments he proceeded with extraordinary care and precision to take the dimensions of the various parts of the dagger, entering each measurement in its place on the sketch, with a few brief descriptive details. The other matter, said he at length, handing the dagger back to the Inspector, refers to the house's opposite. He walked to the window, and looked out at the backs of a row of tall buildings similar to the one we were in. They were about thirty yards distant, and were separated from us by a piece of ground, planted with shrubs, and intercepted by gravel paths. If any of those rooms were occupied last night, continued Thorndike, we might obtain an actual eyewitness of the crime. This room was brilliantly lighted, and all the blinds were up, so that an observer at any of those windows could see right into the room, and very distinctly to. It might be worth inquiring into. Yes, that's true, said the Inspector, though I expect, if any of them have seen anything, they will come forward quick enough when they read the report in the papers. But I must be off now, and I shall have to lock you out of the rooms. As we went down the stairs, Mr. Marchmont announced his intention of calling on us in the evening, unless, he added, you want any information from me now. I do, said Thorndike. I want to know who is interested in this man's death. That, replied Marchmont, is rather a queer story. Let us take a turn in that garden that we saw from the window. We shall be quite private there. He beckoned to Mr. Curtis, and when the Inspector had departed with the police surgeon, we induced the porter to let us into the garden. The question that you asked, Mr. Marchmont began, looking up curiously at the tall house's opposite, is very simply answered. The only person immediately interested in the death of Alfred Hartridge is his executor and sole legatee, a man named Leonard Wolfe. He is no relation of the deceased, merely a friend, but he inherits the entire estate about twenty thousand pounds. The circumstances are these. Alfred Hartridge was the elder of two brothers, of whom the younger Charles died before his father, leaving a widow and three children. Fifteen years ago the father died, leaving the whole of his property to Alfred, with the understanding that he should support his brother's family and make the children his heirs. Was there no will? asked Thorndike. Under great pressure from the friends of his son's widow, the old man made a will shortly before he died, but he was then very old and rather childish, so the will was contested by Alfred. On the grounds of undue influence and was ultimately set aside, since then Alfred Hartridge has not paid a penny towards the support of his brother's family. If it had not been for my client, Mr. Curtis, they might have starved. The whole burden of the support of the widow and the education of the children has fallen upon him. Well, just lately the matter has assumed an acute form for two reasons. The first is that Charles's eldest son Edmund has come of age. Mr. Curtis had him article to a solicitor, and as he is now fully qualified and a most advantageous proposal for a partnership has been made, we have been putting pressure on Alfred to supply the necessary capital in accordance with his father's wishes. This he had refused to do, and it was with reference to this matter that we were calling on him this morning. The second reason involves a curious and disgraceful story. There is a certain Leonard Wolfe who has been an intimate friend of the deceased. He is, I may say, a man of bad character, and their association has been of a kind, creditable, to neither. There is also a certain woman named Hester Green who had certain claims upon the deceased which we need not go into at present. Now Leonard Wolfe and the deceased Alfred Hartridge entered into agreement the terms of which were these. One, Wolfe was to marry Hester Green, and in consideration of this service two, Alfred Hartridge, was to assign to Wolfe the whole of his property absolutely the actual transfer to take place on the death of Hartridge. And has this transaction been completed? Ask Dondike. Yes, it has, unfortunately, but we wish to see if anything could be done for the widow and the children during Hartridge's lifetime. No doubt my client's daughter, Miss Curtis, called last night on a similar mission, very indiscreetly, since the matter was in our hands, but you know she is engaged to Edmund Hartridge and I expect the interview was a pretty stormy one. Dondike remained silent for a while pacing slowly along the gravel path with his eyes bent on the ground. Not abstractedly, however, but with a searching, attentive glance that roved amongst the shrubs and bushes as though he were looking for something. What sort of man, he asks presently, is this Leonard Wolfe? Obviously, he is a low scoundrel but what is he like in other respects? Is he a fool, for instance? Not at all, I should say, said Mr. Curtis. He was formerly an engineer and, I believe, a very capable mecanician. Laterally he has lived on some property that came to him and has spent both his time and his money in gambling and dissipation. Consequently, I expect he is pretty short of funds at present. And in appearance? I only saw him once, replied Mr. Curtis, and all I can remember of him is that he is rather short, fair, thin and clean shaven, and that he has lost the middle finger of his left hand. And he lives at Eltham in Kent. Morton Grange, Eltham, said Mr. Marchmont. And now, if you have all the information that you require, I must really be off and so must Mr. Curtis. The two men shook our hands and hurried away, leaving Thorndyke gazing meditatively at the dingy flower beds. A strange and interesting case, this Jervis, said he, stooping to peer under a laurel bush, the inspector is on a hot scent, a most palpable red herring, on a most obvious string. But that is his business. Ah, here comes the porter, intent no doubt, on pumping us, whereas he smiled genially at the approaching custodian and asked, Where did you say those houses fronted? Kotman Street, sir, answered the porter. They are nearly all offices. And the numbers? That open second floor window, for instance. That is number six. But the house opposite Mr. Hartridge's rooms is number eight. Thank you. Thorndyke was moving away, but suddenly turned again to the porter. By the way, said he, I dropped something out of the window just now, a small, flat piece of metal like this. He made on the back of his visiting card a neat sketch of a circular disc, with a hexagonal hole through it, and handed the card to the porter. I can't say where it fell, he continued. These flat things scale about so, but you might ask the gardener to look for it. I will give him a sovereign if he brings it to my chambers, for although it is of no value to anyone else, it is of considerable value to me. The porter touched his hand briskly, and as we turned out at the gate, I looked back and saw him already wading among the shrubs. The object of the porter's quest gave me considerable mental occupation. I had not seen Thorndyke drop anything, and it was not his way to finger carelessly any object of value. I was about to question him on the subject, when, turning sharply round into Cottman Street, he drew up at the doorway of No. 6 and began attentively to read the names of the occupants. Third floor, he read out Mr. Thomas Barlow, commission agent. I think we will look in on Mr. Barlow. He stepped quickly up the stone stairs, and I followed, until we arrived somewhat out of breath on the third floor. Outside the commission agent's door, he paused for a moment, and we both listened curiously to an irregular sound of shuffling feet from within. Then he softly opened the door and looked into the room. After remaining thus for nearly a minute, he looked round at me with a broad smile, and noiselessly set the door wide open. Inside, a lanky youth of 14 was practising with no mean skill the manipulation of an appliance known by the appropriate name of Diabolo, and so absorbed was he in his occupation that we entered and shut the door without being observed. At length the shuttle missed the string and flew into a large waste-paper basket. The boy turned and confronted us and was instantly covered with confusion. Allow me, said Thorndike, rooting rather unnecessarily in the waste-paper basket, and handing the toy to its owner. I need not ask if Mr. Barlow is in, he added, nor if he is likely to return shortly. He won't be back today, said the boy, perspiring with embarrassment. He left before I came. I was rather late. I see, said Thorndike. The early bird catches the worm, but the late bird catches the Diabolo. How did you know he would not be back? He left a note. Here it is. He exhibited the document, which was neatly written in red ink. Thorndike examined it attentively and then asked, Did you break the inks down yesterday? The boy stared at him in amazement. Yes, I did, he answered. How did you know? I didn't, or I should not have asked. But I see that he has used his stylo to write this note. The boy regarded Thorndike distrustfully as he continued. I really called to see if your Mr. Barlow was a gentleman whom I used to know, but I expect, you can tell me, my friend was tall and thin, dark and clean shaved. This ain't him, then, said the boy. He's thin, but he ain't tall or dark. He's got a sandy beard, and he wears spectacles and a wig. I know a wig when I see one, he added cunningly. Cos my father wears one. He puts it on a peg to comb it, and he swears at me when I laugh. My friend had injured his left hand pursued Thorndike. I don't know about that, said the youth. Mr. Barlow nearly always wears gloves. He always wears one on his left hand, anyhow. Ah, well, I'll just write him a note on the chance. If you will give me a piece of note paper. Have you any ink? There's some in the bottle. I'll dip the pen in for you. He produced from the cupboard an opened packet of cheap note paper and a packet of similar envelopes, and having dipped the pen to the bottom of the ink bottle, handed it to Thorndike, who sat down and hastily scribbled a short note. He had folded the paper and was about to address the envelope when he appeared suddenly to alter his mind. I don't think I will leave it after all, he said, slipping the folded paper into his pocket. No, tell him I called. Mr. Horace Budge and say I will look in again, in a day or two. The youth watched our exit with an air of perplexity, and he even came out onto the landing, the better to observe us over the balusters, until, unexpectedly catching Thorndike's eye, he withdrew his head. With remarkable suddenness and retired in disorder. To tell the truth, I was now little less perplexed than the office boy by Thorndike's proceedings, in which I could discover no relevancy to the investigation, that I presumed he was engaged upon, and the last straw was laid upon the burden of my curiosity when he stopped at a staircase window, drew the note out of his pocket, examined it with his lens, held it up to the light, and chuckled aloud. Luck, he observed, though no substitute for care and intelligence, is a very pleasant addition. Really, my learned brother, we are doing uncommonly well. When we reached the hall, Thorndike stopped at the housekeeper's box, and looked in with a genial nod. I have just been up to see Mr. Barlow, said he. He seems to have left quite early. Yes, sir, the man replied. He went away about half past eight. That was very early, and presumably he came earlier still. I suppose so, the man assented with a grin, but I had only just come on when he left. Had he any luggage with him? Yes, sir, there was two cases, a square one and a long narrow one, about five foot long. I helped him to carry them down to the cab. Which was a four-wheeler, I suppose. Yes, sir. Mr. Barlow hasn't been here very long, has he, Thorndike inquired. No, he only came in last quarter day, about six weeks ago. Ah, well, I must call another day, good morning, and Thorndike strode out of the building, and made directly for the cab-rank in the adjoining street. Here he stopped for a minute or two to parlay with the driver of a four-wheeled cab, whom he finally commissioned to convey us to a shop in New Oxford Street. Having dismissed the cab man with his blessing and a half sovereign, he vanished into the shop, leaving me to gaze at the lathes, drills, and bars of metal displayed in the window. Presently he emerged with a small parcel, and explained, in answer to my inquiring look, a strip of tool steel and a block of metal for polton. His next purchase was rather more eccentric. We were proceeding along Holborn, when his attention was suddenly arrested by the window of a furniture shop, in which was displayed a collection of obsolete French small arms, relics of the tragedy of 1870, which were being sold for decorative purposes. After a brief inspection, he entered the shop, and shortly reappeared, carrying a long-sword bayonet and an old chaspo rifle. What may be the meaning of this marshal display, I ask, as we turn down Fetalane? House protection, he replied promptly. You will agree that a discharge of musketry, followed by a bayonet charge, would disconcert the boldest of burglars. I laughed at the absurd picture, thus drawn of this generous house protector, but nevertheless continued to speculate, on the meaning of my friend's eccentric proceedings, which I felt sure were in some way related to the murder in Brackenhurst chambers, though I could not trace the connection. After a late lunch I hurried out to transact, such of my business as had been interrupted, by the stirring events of the morning, leaving Thorndike busy with a drawing board, squares, scale, and compasses, making accurate scale drawings from his rough sketches, while Poulton, with the brown paper parcel in his hand, looked on at him with an air of anxious expectation. As I was returning homeward in the evening, by way of MITRE court, I overtook Mr Marchmont, who was also bound for our chambers, and we walked on together. I had a note from Thorndike, he explained, asking for a specimen of handwriting, so I thought I would bring it along myself, and hear if he has any news. When we entered the chambers, we found Thorndike in earnest consultation with Poulton, and on the table before them, I observed, to my great surprise, the dagger with which the murder had been committed. I have got the specimen that you asked for, said Marchmont. I didn't think I should be able to, but by a lucky chance Curtis kept the only letter he ever received from the party in question. He drew the letter from his wallet and handed it to Thorndike, who looked at it attentively and with evident satisfaction. By the way, said Marchmont, taking up the dagger, I thought the inspector took this away with him. He took the original, replied Thorndike, this is a duplicate which Poulton has made for experimental purposes from my drawings. Really exclaimed Marchmont with a glance of respectful admiration at Poulton. It is a perfect replica, and you have made it so quickly too. It was quite easy to make, said Poulton, to a man accustomed to work in metal, which, added Thorndike, is a fact of some evidential value. At this moment a handsome drew up outside, a moment later flying footsteps were heard on the stairs. There was a furious battering at the door, and as Poulton threw it open, Mr. Curtis burst wildly into the room. Here is a frightful thing, Marchmont, he gasped. Edith, my daughter, arrested for the murder. Inspector Badger came to our house and took her. My God, I shall go mad! Thorndike laid his hand on the excited man's shoulder. Don't distress yourself, Mr. Curtis, said he. There is no occasion, I assure you. I suppose, he added, your daughter is left-handed. Yes, she is, by a most disastrous coincidence. But what are we to do? Good God! Dr. Thorndike, they have taken her to prison! To prison! Think of it! My poor Edith! We'll soon have her out, said Thorndike. But listen, there is someone at the door. A brisk rat-tat confirmed his statement, and when I rose to open the door, I found myself confronted by Inspector Badger. There was a moment of extreme awkwardness, and then both the detective and Mr. Curtis proposed to retire in favour of the other. Don't go, Inspector, said Thorndike. I want to have a word with you. Perhaps Mr. Curtis would look in again, say in an hour. Will you? We shall have news for you by then, I hope. Mr. Curtis agreed hastily, and dashed out of the room with his characteristic impetuosity. When he had gone, Thorndike turned to the detective and remarked, Dryly, You seem to have been busy, Inspector. Yes, replied Badger. I haven't let the grass grow under my feet, and I've got a pretty strong case against Ms. Curtis already. You see, she was the last person seen in the company of the deceased. She had a grievance against him. She is left-handed, and you remember that the murder was committed by a left-handed person. Anything else? Yes, I have seen those Italians, and the whole thing was a put-up job. A woman in a widow's dress and veil paid them to go and play the fool outside the building, and she gave them the letter that was left with the porter. They haven't identified her yet, but she seems to agree in size with Ms. Curtis. And how did she get out of the chambers with the door bolted on the inside? Ah, there you are. That's a mystery at present, unless you can give us an explanation. The Inspector made this qualification with a grin and added, As there was no one in the place when we broke into it, the murderer must have got out somehow. You can't deny that. I do deny it nevertheless, said Thorndike. You look surprised, he continued, which was undoubtedly true. But yet the whole thing is exceedingly obvious. The explanation struck me directly, I looked at the body. There was evidently no practicable exit from the flat, and there was certainly no one in it when you entered. Clearly then, the murderer had never been in the place at all. I don't follow you in the least, said the Inspector. Well, said Thorndike, as I have finished with the case and I'm handing it over to you, I will put the evidence before you, seriatim. Now I think we are agreed that at the moment when the blow was struck, the deceased was standing before the fireplace, winding the clock. The dagger entered obliquely from the left, and, if you recall its position, you will remember that its health pointed directly towards an open window, which was forty feet from the ground. Yes, and now we will consider the very peculiar character of the weapon with which the crime was committed. He had placed his hand upon the knob of a drawer when we were interrupted by a knock at the door. I sprang up, and opening it admitted no less a person than the porter of Brackenhurst chambers. The man looked somewhat surprised on recognizing our visitors, but advanced to Thorndike drawing a folded paper from his pocket. I found the article you were looking for, sir, said he, and a rare hunt I had for it. It had stuck in the leaves of one of them shrubs. Thorndike opened the packet, and, having glanced inside, laid it on the table. Thank you, said he, pushing a sovereign across to the gratified official. The Inspector has your name, I think. We have, sir, replied the porter, and pocketing his fee, he departed, beaming. To return to the dagger, said Thorndike, opening the drawer. It was a very peculiar one, as I have said, and, as you will see from this model, which is an exact duplicate. Here he exhibited Poulton's production to the astonished detective. You see that it is extraordinarily slender and free from projections, and of unusual materials. You also see that it was obviously not made by an ordinary dagger maker, that, in spite of the Italian word scrawled on it, there is plainly, written all over it, British mechanic. The blade is made from a strip of common three-quarter-inch tool steel. The hilt is turned from an aluminium rod, and there is not a line of engraving on it that could not be produced in a lathe by any engineer's apprentice. Even the boss at the top is mechanical, for it is just like an ordinary hexagon nut. Then notice the dimensions, as shown on my drawing. The parts A and B, which just project beyond the blade, are exactly similar in diameter, and such exactness could hardly be accidental. They are each parts of a circle having a diameter of 10.9mm, a dimension which happens by a singular coincidence, to be exactly the calibre of the old Chaspot rifle, specimens of which are now on sale at several shops in London. Here is one, for instance. He fetched the rifle that he had bought from the corner in which it was standing, and lifting the dagger by its point slipped the hilt into the muzzle. When he let go the dagger slid quietly down the barrel, until its hilt appeared in the open breach. Good God! exclaimed Marchmont. You don't suggest that the dagger was shot from a gun? I do indeed, and you now see the reason for the aluminium hilt to diminish the weight of the already heavy projectile, and also for this hexagonal boss on the end. No, I do not, said the inspector, but I say that you are suggesting an impossibility. Then replied Thorndike, I must explain and demonstrate. To begin with, this projectile had to travel point foremost, therefore it had to be made to spin, and it certainly was spinning when it entered the body, as the clothing and the wound showed us. Now, to make it spin, it had to be fired from a rifled barrel, but as the hilt would not engage in the rifling, it had to be fitted with something that would. That something was evidently a soft metal washer, which fitted onto this hexagon, and which would be pressed into the grooves of the rifling, and so spin the dagger, but would drop off as soon as the weapon left the barrel. Here is such a washer, which Poulton has made for us. He laid on the table a metal disc with a hexagonal hole through it. This is all very ingenious, said the inspector, but I say it is impossible and fantastic. It certainly sounds rather improbable, Marchmont agreed. We will see, said Thorndike. Here is a makeshift cartridge of Poulton's manufacture, containing an eighth charge of smokeless powder for a twenty-bore gun. He fitted the washer onto the boss of the dagger in the open breach of the rifle, pushed it into the barrel, inserted the cartridge, and closed the breach. Then opening the office door, he displayed a target of padded strawboard against the wall. The length of the two rooms, said he, gives us a distance of thirty-two feet.  I complied, and he then pointed the rifle at the target. There was a dull report, much less loud than I had expected, and when we looked at the target, we saw the dagger driven in up to its hilt at the margin of the bullseye. You see, said Thorndike laying down the rifle, that the thing is practicable, now for the evidence as to the actual occurrence. First on the original dagger there are linear scratches, which exactly correspond with the grooves of the rifling. Then there is a fact that the dagger was certainly spinning from left to right, in the direction of the rifling, that is, when it entered the body. And then there is this, which, as you heard, the porter found in the garden. He opened the paper packet, in it lay a metal disc, perforated by a hexagonal hole. Stepping into the office, he picked up from the floor the washer that he had put on the dagger, and laid it on the paper beside the other. The two discs were identical in size, and the margin of each was indented with identical markings, corresponding to the rifling of the barrel. The inspector gazed at the two discs in silence for a while, then looking up at Thorndike he said, I give in, doctor, your right beyond all doubt, but how you came to think of it beats me into fits. The only question now is, who fired the gun, and why wasn't the report heard? As to the latter, said Thorndike, it is probable that he used a compressed air attachment, not only to diminish the noise, but also to prevent any traces of the explosive from being left on the dagger. As to the former, I think I can give you the murderer's name, but we had better take the evidence in order. You may remember, he continued, that when Dr. Gervis stood as if winding the clock, I chalked a mark on the floor where he stood. Now standing on that marked spot, and looking out of the open window, I could see two of the windows of a house nearly opposite. They were the second and third floor windows of number six, Cottman Street. The second floor is occupied by a firm of architects, the third floor by a commission agent named Thomas Barlow. I called on Mr. Barlow, but before describing my visit, I will refer to another matter. You haven't those threatening letters about you, I suppose. Yes, I have, said the inspector, and he drew forth a wallet from his breast pocket. Let us take the first one then, said Thorndike. You see that the paper and the envelope are of the very commonist and the writing illiterate, but the ink does not agree with this. Illiterate people usually buy their ink in penny bottles. Now this envelope is addressed with draper's dichroic ink, a superior office ink sold only in large bottles, and the red ink in which the note is written is an unfixed scarlet ink, such as is used by draftsmen and has been used, as you can see, in a stylographic pen. But the most interesting thing about this letter is the design drawn at the top. In an artistic sense the man could not draw, and the anatomical details of the skull are ridiculous. Yet the drawing is very neat. It has the clean, wiry line of a machine drawing, and is done with a steady, practiced hand. It is also perfectly symmetrical. The skull, for instance, is exactly in the centre, and when we examine it through a lens, we see why it is so, for we discover traces of a penciled centre line, and ruled cross lines. Moreover the lens reveals a tiny particle of draftsman's soft, red rubber, with which the pencil lines were taken out, and all these facts taken together suggest that the drawing was made by someone, accustomed to making accurate mechanical drawings, and now we will return to Mr. Barlow. He was out when I called, but I took the liberty of glancing round the office, and this is what I saw.  I obtained, by a simple ruse, a specimen of the office note paper and the ink. We will examine it presently.  He left the office at 8.30 this morning, and no one saw him arrive. He had with him a square case, and a narrow oblong one about five feet in length, and he took a cab to Victoria, and apparently caught the 8.51 train to Chatham. Ah! exclaimed the inspector. But continued Thorndike. Now examine those three letters, and compare them with this note that I wrote in Mr. Barlow's office. You see that the paper is of the same make, with the same watermark, but that is of no great significance. What is of crucial importance is this. You see in each of these letters two tiny indentations near the bottom corner. Somebody has used compasses or drawing pins over the packet of note paper, and the points have made little indentations, which have marked several of the sheets. Now note paper is cut to its size after it is folded, and if you stick a pin into the top sheet of a section, the indentations on all the underlying sheets will be at exactly similar distances from the edges and corners of the sheet. But you will see that these little dents are all at the same distance from the edges and the corner. He demonstrated the fact with a pair of compasses. And now look at this sheet, which I obtained at Mr. Barlow's office. There are two little indentations, rather faint, but quite visible, near the bottom corner, and when we measure them with the compasses, we find that they are exactly the same distance apart as the others, and the same distance from the edges and the bottom corner. The irresistible conclusion is that these four sheets came from the same packet. The inspector started up from his chair and faced Thorndike. Who is this Mr. Barlow? He asked. That, replied Thorndike, is for you to determine, but I can give you a useful hint. There is only one person who benefits by the death of Alfred Hartridge, but he benefits to the extent of £20,000. His name is Leonard Wolfe, and I learn from Mr. Marchmont that he is a man of indifferent character, a gambler, and a spendthrift. By profession, he is an engineer, and he is a capable mecanician. In appearance, he is thin, short, fair, and clean-shaven, and he has lost the middle finger of his left hand. Mr. Barlow is also short, thin, and fair, but wears a wig, a beard, and spectacles, and always wears a glove on his left hand. I have seen the handwriting of both these gentlemen, and should say that it would be difficult to distinguish one from the other. That's good enough for me, said the inspector. Give me his address, and I'll have Miss Curtis released at once. The same night Leonard Wolfe was arrested at Eltham, in the very act of burying in his garden a large and powerful compressed air-rifle. He was never brought to trial, however, for he had in his pocket a more portable weapon, a large-bore Derringer pistol, with which he managed to terminate an exceedingly ill-spent life. And after all was Thorn Dyke's comment when he heard of the event. He had his uses. He has relieved society of two very bad men, and he has given us a most instructive case. He has shown us how a clever and ingenious criminal may take endless pains to mislead and delude the police, and yet, by inattention to trivial details, may scatter clues broadcast. We can only say to the criminal class generally, in both respects, go thou and do likewise. End of chapter 7.