He was dark, sinuous, tigerish, with a strange and unforgetable face and with a gaze as hypnotic as a snake's. He claimed to be French by birth and called himself "Pierre Ua Rue." No one knew his real name.
"All here," he said, tersely. "Here's the report. Tanner and I went to Hanna's as we planned. We got in easily enough. Hanna was in the library alone. He was so old and feeble that I had decided to let Tanner do the job, instead of doing it myself. He'd been plaguing me to let him try the grip ever since I taught it to him. It was a false move. For he bungled. They struggled all over the room, and they got between the light and the window shade. A man smashed in through the window and threw Tanner against the wall, crippling his shoulder. I got the grip on the fellow; and I was finishing him when I heard the police whistle. We shoved what cash we could find into the bag. Hangl over. Tanner."
Or. Montrose sat in his library late the following afternoon. From a drawer in his desk he had just taken a copy of the Examiner and had he gun to read it, when a low rap sounded on the door. Almost guiltily, the doctor folded the paper and thrust it back into the drawer.
"Cotrie in." he called.
Felix, his assistant, a crafty-eyed man of smugly, servile men, opened the door. 