'A valuable curiosity. Once upon a time some person or persons whom we will call unknown unlawfully obtained private papers from the files of Scotland Yard. In place of said papers, the said person or persons left an equivalent number of blank sheets. The blank sheet you hold in your hand is a specimen of the same. Very interesting.'
She stared.
'One of the sheets that were left in the file?'
'No. An identical sheet, out of the block from which the sheets left at the Yard were taken. Now here'—the Saint dived into another pocket—'is one of the sheets that were left at the Yard. If you compare the two—'
Jill Trelawney took the second sheet in her hand.
She said breathlessly: 'But how the——'
Simon Templar smiled seraphically.
'My spies are everywhere,' he said. 'I have resources at which you cannot even guess. Excuse me.'
He took all the papers out of her hand, restored them to the envelope, and replaced the envelope in his pocket.
The girl put a hand on his shoulder.
'You're playing some clever game,' she said. 'I want to know what it is.'
The Saint tapped his pocket.
'There are papers here,' he said, 'which cannot be duplicated. They are the only genuine dromedary's drawers. There is, for instance, the original letter giving warning of an impending raid, written on Scotland Yard notepaper on the typewriter which was in your father's office, which went part of the way towards substantiating the charges against your father. There is evidence which cannot be taken again. And there are details of the case which, without these papers, nobody might remember, after all this time. Small details, but important to some people. If, for instance, the chief commissioner should for any reason decide to set up a fresh inquiry into the circumstances of your father's dismissal ——'
'Why should he do that?'
'Isn't that what you want?'
She did not answer.
'Isn't that what the Angels of Doom were for?'
'Yes,' said Jill, almost in a whisper, 'that's what they were for—originally.'
'To wipe the noses of the guys who framed Papa because they couldn't buy him. Exactly.'
'And that's all,' said Jill huskily. 'That's all they ever did. There was Waldstein and Essenden. Essenden made some sort of confession—but Essenden's dead, and no one would credit my evidence and yours. And it was the same with Waldstein. I'm beginning to think that there's no chance of doing anything but take revenge.'
'Waldstein and Essenden,' said the Saint—''Numbers One and Two. There's still Number Three; it's always third time lucky, lass.'
'Are we going to do any better there?'
'We ought to, after all the practice we've had. If you keep your heart up, old girl——'
She raised her head.
'I still don't know,' she said, 'why you should be in this with me.'
'Child,' said
