We gazed at it, open-eyed.  One word rose to our lips simultaneously:  “Brabazon!”

“And how’s this for high?” he asked again, producing another—­the photograph of a gay young dog in a Tyrolese costume.

We murmured, “Von Lebenstein!”

“And this?” he continued, showing us the portrait of a lady with a most fetching squint.

We answered with one voice, “Little Mrs. Granton!”

Medhurst was naturally proud of this excellent exploit.  He replaced them in his pocket-book with an air of just triumph.

“How did you get them?” Charles asked.

Medhurst’s look was mysterious.  “Sir Charles,” he answered, drawing himself up, “I must ask you to trust me awhile in this matter.  Remember, there are people whom you decline to suspect. I have learned that it is always those very people who are most dangerous to capitalists.  If I were to give you the names now, you would refuse to believe me.  Therefore, I hold them over discreetly for the moment.  One thing, however, I say.  I know to a certainty where Colonel Clay is at this present speaking.  But I will lay my plans deep, and I hope before long to secure him.  You shall be present when I do so; and I shall make him confess his personality openly.  More than that you cannot reasonably ask.  I shall leave it to you, then, whether or not you wish to arrest him.”

Charles was considerably puzzled, not to say piqued, by this curious reticence; he begged hard for names; but Medhurst was adamant.  “No, no,” he replied; “we detectives have our own just pride in our profession.  If I told you now, you would probably spoil all by some premature action.  You are too open and impulsive!  I will mention this alone:  Colonel Clay will be shortly in Paris, and before long will begin from that city a fresh attempt at defrauding you, which he is now hatching.  Mark my words, and see whether or not I have been kept well informed of the fellow’s movements!”

He was perfectly correct.  Two days later, as it turned out, Charles received a “confidential” letter from Paris, purporting to come from the head of a second-rate financial house with which he had had dealings over the Craig-Ellachie Amalgamation—­by this time, I ought to have said, an accomplished union.  It was a letter of small importance in itself—­a mere matter of detail; but it paved the way, so Medhurst thought, to some later development of more serious character.  Here once more the man’s singular foresight was justified.  For, in another week, we received a second communication, containing other proposals of a delicate financial character, which would have involved the transference of some two thousand pounds to the head of the Parisian firm at an address given.  Both these letters Medhurst cleverly compared with those written to Charles before, in the names of Colonel Clay and of Graf von Lebenstein.  At first sight, it is true, the differences between the