After a couple of hours, which he devote to some personal matters, he received a response to his inquiry.  When translated from the Hungarian it read thus: 

“Professor Montague Shirley, College Club, N.Y., U.S.A.

Families extinct except Countess Laschlas, and son Count Rozi Laschlas, reported killed in Albanian revolution.

Csherkini, Minister of Justice.”

The criminologist was happy.  Here was a weapon which he had not yet used.  Now he turned his steps towards the Tombs, for an interview with the prisoner.

After some parley with the warden, he was admitted for a visit to Reginald Warren.  That gentleman’s fury was rekindled at the sight of the club man who had been so instrumental in his downfall.  But a cunning smile played over the features of the criminal.

“So, you have come to gloat over your work, Shirley?  Well, it is a game two can play.”

“Yes?  I am always interested in sport.  I came to see if there was anything I could do for you in your confinement,” was the unruffled reply.

“You will be busy with your own affairs,” retorted Warren.  “I have been busy writing my confession.  Here is the manuscript.  I will baffle all your efforts to hush up the affairs of the ‘Lobster Club.’  Furthermore, my confession,” (and he exultantly waved a mass of manuscript at his visitor,) “will send young Van Cleft to prison for perjury on the certificate of his father’s death.  Captain Cronin, that prince of blockheads, will share the same fate.  Professor MacDonald, who I know very well signed the death certificates, will be disgraced and driven from professional standing.  You will be implicated in this plot to thwart justice.  With the German university thoroughness to which you so sarcastically referred, I have written down the facts as carefully as though I were preparing a thesis for a doctor’s degree!”

He laughed maliciously, studying the effect of his words.  He was disappointed.  Shirley’s bland manner changed not a whit.  Instead the criminologist offered him a cigarette.

“You might as well smoke now—­as later!” and there was a wealth of innuendo in the emphasis.  “Is that all you are going to do, to square your accounts?”

“By no means!  As my trump card, I have implicated Miss Helene Marigold in the various exploits which have been so successful now.  She is unknown in New York—­I investigated that matter.  She will have a fine task in proving an alibi, after the careful preparation I have made.  In fact, I accuse her of being the mistress of my dead con’federate—­”

Shirley sprang to his feet, and the rage which was shown in his strong features brought a leer to the face of the other.

“Strike me,” continued the tormentor.  “All I have to do is to call the guard.  I have been busy thinking since they locked me up here.  There is nothing more to do to me than the electric chair—­but, I am not finished yet.”