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The editor sat back in his chair, and the two furrows which deepened upon either side of his hard-bitted mouth answered for a smile. "When you find a machine that hasn't got 'T-C.R. lettered on it somewhere, you let us know about it," was his rather cryptic reply. "That is not the point," said Blount dryly.

One body collapses sufficiently to deposit a hunk of bread and a piece of water. "Give your bowl." I gave it, smiled and said: "Well, how about that pencil?" "Pencil?" T-c looked at T-c. They recited then the following word: "To-morrow." Klang and footsteps. So I took matches, burnt, and with just 60 of them wrote the first stanza of a ballade. To-morrow I will write the second.

"In an hour or two: your friend has already gone before. Get ready." Klang and steps. Everyone very sore about me. I should worry, however. One hour, I guess. Steps. Sudden throwing of door open. Pause. "Come out, American." As I came out, toting bed and bed-roll, I remarked: "I'm sorry to leave you," which made T-c furiously to masticate his insignificant moustache.

It was growing dusk, and when he failed to discern what he was looking for, he turned on the electric lights and tried again. At this the script "T-C" water-mark was plainly visible, and he showed it to Blount. "That proves conclusively that the substitution was made here in your own office. Whom do you suspect?"