The guard, who had never left his own brake, went home and dreamed that his effigy had been added to the collection of Madame Tussaud.

The reporters were the only people who were really happy, with the exception, perhaps of Inspector Jacks, who had a weakness for a difficult case.
Fifteen miles north of London, a man lay by the roadside in the shadow of a plantation of pine trees, through which he had staggered only a few minutes ago.

His clothes were covered with dust, he had lost his cap, and his trousers were cut about the knee as though from a fall.

He was of somewhat less than medium height, dark, slender, with delicate features, and hair almost coal black.

His face, as he moved slowly from side to side upon the grass, was livid with pain.