was some time before I had occasion to go that way—when I did, I was surprised to see a new name over the shop. I went in and asked where its former proprietor was. The new shopkeeper told me that Mr. Molteno had sold his business to him. And he didn't know where Mr. Molteno had gone, or whether he'd retired from business altogether; he knew nothing—and evidently didn't care, either, so—that part of my memories comes to an end!
"Mr. Spencer Levendale is a man of just under fifty," remarked Ayscough, after a thoughtful pause, "and I should say that twenty-five years ago, he'd be just such a man as Mr. Killick has described."
"You can take it from me—considering all that I've been told this afternoon—" said the old solicitor, "that Spencer Levendale is Sam Levin—come back from South Africa, a millionaire. I'm convinced of it! And now then, gentlemen, what does all this mean? There's no doubt that old Multenius and Levendale were secretly mixed up. What in? What's the extraordinary mystery about that book—left in Multenius's back parlour and advertised for immediately by Levendale as if it were simply invaluable? Why has Levendale utterly disappeared? And who is this man Purvis—and what's he to do with it? You've got the hardest nuts to crack—a whole basketful of 'em!—that ever I heard of. And I've had some little experience of crime!"
"I've had some information on Levendale and Purvis this very afternoon," said Ayscough. He turned to the other officials. "I hadn't a chance of telling you of it before," he continued. "I was at Levendale's house at
