But I wish to take advantage of this moment's respite to read with care the article that ought as every day to figure in the final edition of The Globe, a copy of which I have just purchased from the nearby news-stand. No sooner have I opened the paper at the sex-crimes page than I feel a flush come to my cheeks at seeing, spread over three columns, the photograph of the false doctor's little leather case. I had completely forgotten this object, which now reappears--as should have been expected--just as everything seemed to be sorted out at last in an almost satisfactory if not perfect manner.

I ought to have been on my guard, though, when it came to that idle discussion about the supposed virginity of the missing girls. What might such a case contain? Not apples, obviously! Nor sandwiches for the journey (filled with chloroform, presumably!). But I am wrong to laugh: unless I'm careful I shall soon find this sandwich business, which is pretty pointless, coming home to roost just when I am least expecting it.