“With this he turned somewhat hastily and shambled away up the street at the quick shuffle characteristic of his class.  I let myself in at the side door and proceeded to the museum to examine Number Five with renewed interest.  The resemblance was remarkable.  It was plainly traceable even in the skull and in the proportions of the skeleton generally, while in the small, dry preparation of the head the likeness was ridiculous.  It was most regrettable that he should have refused my invitation to come in.  As a companion preparation, illustrating the physical resemblances in degenerate families, he would have been invaluable.

“His conversation and his ludicrous threat of legal proceedings gave me much matter for reflection.  To him burglary presented itself as a legitimate sporting pursuit governed by certain rules.  The players were respectively the burglar and the householder, of whom the latter staked his property and the former a certain period of personal liberty; and the rules of the game were equally binding on both.  It was a conception worthy of comic opera; and yet, incredible as it may seem, it is the very view of crime that is today accepted and acted upon by society.

“The threat uttered by my diminutive acquaintance had the sound of broad farce, and so, I may confess, I regarded it.  The idea of a burglar proceeding against a householder for hindering him in the execution of his private business might have emanated from the whimsical brain of the late W.S.  Gilbert.  The quaint topsy-turveydom of it caused me many a chuckle of amusement when I recalled the interview during the next few days; but, of course, I never dreamed of any actual attempt to carry out the threat.

“Imagine, therefore, my astonishment when I realized that not only had the complaint been made, but the law had actually been set—­at least tentatively—­in motion.

“The stunning discovery descended on me with the force of a concussor three days after the interview with Number Five’s cousin.  I was sitting in my study reading Chevers’ ‘Crime against the Person’ when the housemaid entered with a visiting card.  ’A gentleman wished to see me to discuss certain scientific matters with me.’

“I looked at the card.  It bore the name of ‘Mr. James Ramchild,’ a name quite unknown to me.  It was very odd.  A scientific colleague would surely have written for an appointment and stated the object of his visit.  I looked at the card again.  It was printed from script type instead of the usual engraved plate and it bore an address in Kennington Park Road.  These were weighty facts and a trifle suspicious.  I seemed to scent a traveler from beyond the Atlantic; a traveler of commercial leanings.

“‘Show Mr. Ramchild up here,’ I said, and the housemaid departed, to return anon accompanied by a tall, massive man of a somewhat military aspect.

“I could have laughed aloud, but I did not.  It would not have been politic and it would certainly not have been polite.  But I chuckled inwardly as I offered my visitor a chair. ‘Experientia docet!’ I had seen quite a number of plain-clothes police officers in the last few months and the present specimen would have been typical even without his boots.  I prepared to enjoy myself.