“And you will do that, Mr. Carrados?”

Carrados smiled engagingly.  He knew exactly what constituted the great attraction of his services.

“My position is this,” he explained.  “So far my work has been entirely amateur.  In that capacity I have averted one or two crimes, remedied an occasional injustice, and now and then been of service to my professional friend, Louis Carlyle.  But there is no reason at all why I should serve a commercial firm in an ordinary affair of business for nothing.  For any information I should require a fee, a quite nominal fee of, say, one hundred pounds.”

The director looked as though his faith in human nature had received a rude blow.

“A hundred pounds would be a very large initial fee for a small firm like this, Mr. Carrados,” he remarked in a pained voice.

“And that, of course, would be independent of Mr. Carlyle’s professional charges,” added Carrados.

“Is that sum contingent on any specific performance?” inquired the manager.

“I do not mind making it conditional on my procuring for you, for the police to act on, a photograph and a description of the thief.”

The two officials conferred apart for a moment.  Then the manager returned.

“We will agree, Mr. Carrados, on the understanding that these things are to be in our hands within two days.  Failing that—­”

“No, no!” cried Mr. Carlyle indignantly, but Carrados good-humouredly put him aside.

“I will accept the condition in the same sporting spirit that inspires it.  Within forty-eight hours or no pay.  The cheque, of course, to be given immediately the goods are delivered?”

“You may rely on that.”

Carrados took out his pocket-book, produced an envelope bearing an American stamp, and from it extracted an unmounted print.

“Here is the photograph,” he announced.  “The man is called Ulysses K. Groom, but he is better known as ‘Harry the Actor.’  You will find the description written on the back.”

Five minutes later, when they were alone, Mr. Carlyle expressed his opinion of the transaction.

“You are an unmitigated humbug, Max,” he said, “though an amiable one, I admit.  But purely for your own private amusement you spring these things on people.”

“On the contrary,” replied Carrados, “people spring these things on me.”

“Now this photograph.  Why have I heard nothing of it before?”

Carrados took out his watch and touched the fingers.

“It is now three minutes to eleven.  I received the photograph at twenty past eight.”

“Even then, an hour ago you assured me that you had done nothing.”

“Nor had I—­so far as result went.  Until the keystone of the edifice was wrung from the manager in his room, I was as far away from demonstrable certainty as ever.”

“So am I—­as yet,” hinted Mr. Carlyle.

“I am coming to that, Louis.  I turn over the whole thing to you.  The man has got two clear days’ start and the chances are nine to one against catching him.  We know everything, and the case has no further interest for me.  But it is your business.  Here is your material.