“’Complete set superfine human osteology strongly articulated with best brass wire and screw-bolts, with springs to mandible and stout iron supporting rod.  All bones guaranteed to be derived from the same subject.  L5.3.4.’

“The invoice was headed, Oscar Hammerstein, Dealer in Osteology, Great St. Andrew Street, London, W.C.,’ and was dated 4th February, 1891.

“The detective entered the name and address in a black-bound note-book of official aspect, compared the date with that on Cousin Bill’s pedestal and prepared to depart.

“‘There is one thing I must point out to you,’ I said, anticipating an early visit on my friend’s part to Mr. Hammerstein; ’the skeletons as you get them from the dealers are not always up to museum style in point of finish.  They are often of a bad color and may be stained with grease.  If they are, you will have to disarticulate them, clean them with benzol and, if necessary, remacerate and bleach; but whatever you do,’ I concluded solemnly, ’be careful with the chlorinated soda or you will spoil the appearance of the bones and make them brittle.  Good bye!’ I shook his hand effusively and he took his departure very glum and crestfallen.

“As long as he had been with me, something of the old buoyant spirit of playfulness—­that was my ordinary mood until my great trouble befell—­had been revived by the absurdity of the situation.  But his departure left me rather depressed, for his visit marked the final collapse of my scheme.  Even if the criminal classes had been willing to continue the supply of anthropological material, my methods could not have been carried out under the watchful and disapproving eyes of the police.

“What then was to be done?  This was the question that I asked myself again and again.  As to abandoning my activities, of course, such an idea never occurred to me.  I remained alive for a definite purpose:  to search for the man who had murdered my wife and to exact from him payment of his debt.  Of this purpose, the collection had been, at first, a mere by-product; and though it was gradually taking such hold of me as to become a purpose in itself, it was but a minor purpose.  The discovery of that unknown wretch was the Mecca of my earthly pilgrimage, from which no difficulties or obstacles should divert me.

“The hint that ultimately guided me into new fields of research came to me by the merest chance.  A few days after the visit of the detective I received a letter from one of my few remaining friends, a Dr. Grayson, who had formerly practiced in London as a physician, but who, owing to age and infirmity, had retired to his native place, the village of Shome, near Rochester.  Grayson asked me to spend a day with him, that we might talk over some matters in which we were both interested; and, being now rather at a loose end, I accepted the invitation, but declined to sleep away from home and my collection.