Lower Thames Street. There he stopped
before a public-house, under the sign of The
Wheel of Fortune, and, after examining the
place outside, went in. Gooseberry went in
too. There were a great many people, mostly
of the decent sort, at the bar. The Wheel of
Fortune is a very respectable house, Mr. Blake;
famous for its porter and pork-pies."

The Sergeant's digressions irritated me. He
saw it; and confined himself more strictly to
Gooseberry's evidence when he went on.

"The sailor," he resumed, " asked if he could
have a bed. The landlord said ' No; they were
full.' The barmaid corrected him, and said
' Number Ten was empty.' A waiter was sent
for to show the sailor to Number Ten. Just
before that, Gooseberry had noticed the
mechanic among the people at the bar. Before
the waiter had answered the call, the mechanic
had vanished. The sailor was taken off to his
room. Not knowing what to do next, Gooseberry
had the wisdom to wait and see if anything
happened. Something did happen. The
landlord was called for. Angry voices were
heard up-stairs. The mechanic suddenly made
his appearance again, collared by the landlord,
and exhibiting, to Gooseberry's great surprise,
all the signs and tokens of being drunk.
The landlord thrust him out at the door, and
threatened him with the police if he came
back. From the altercation between them,
while this was going on, it appeared that
the man had been discovered in Number Ten,
and had declared with drunken obstinacy that
he had taken the room. Gooseberry was so
struck by this sudden intoxication of a
previously sober person, that he couldn't resist
running out after the mechanic into the street.
As long as he was in sight of the public house,
the man reeled about in the most disgraceful
manner. The moment he turned the corner of
the street, he recovered his balance instantly,
and became as sober a member of society as you
could wish to see. Gooseberry went back to
The Wheel of Fortune, in a very bewildered
state of mind. He waited about again, on
the chance of something happening. Nothing
happened; and nothing more was to be heard,
or seen, of the sailor. Gooseberry decided
on going back to the office. Just as he came
to this conclusion, who should appear, on
the opposite side of the street as usual, but
the mechanic again! He looked up at one
particular window at the top of the public-
house, which was the only one that had a light
in it. The light seemed to relieve his mind.
He left the place directly. The boy made his
way back to Gray's Inn— got your card and
message—called—and failed to find you. There
you have the state of the case, Mr. Blake, as
it stands at the present time."

"What is your own opinion of the case,
Sergeant?"

"I think it's serious, sir. Judging by what
the boy saw, the Indians are in it, to begin
with."

"Yes. And the sailor is evidently the man
to whom Mr. Luker passed the Diamond. It
seems odd that Mr. Bruff, and I, and the man
in Mr. Bruff's employment, should all have been
mistaken about who the person was."

"Not at all, Mr. Blake. Considering the
risk that person ran, it's likely enough that
Mr. Luker purposely misled you, by previous
arrangement between them."

"Do you understand the proceedings at the
public-house?" I asked. " The man dressed
like a mechanic, was acting of course in the
employment of the Indians. But I am as much
puzzled to account for his sudden assumption
of drunkenness as Gooseberry himself."

"I think I can give a guess at what it means,
sir," said the Sergeant. "If you will reflect,
you will see that the man must have had some
pretty strict instructions from the Indians.
They were far too noticeable themselves to risk
being seen at the bank, or in the public-house—
they were obliged to trust everything to their
deputy. Very good. Their deputy hears a
certain number named, in the public-house, as
the number of the room which the sailor is to
have for the night—that being also the room
(unless our notion is all wrong) which the
Diamond is to have for the night, too. Under
those circumstances, the Indians, you may rely
on it, would insist on having a description of
the room—of its position in the house, of its
capability of being approached from the outside,
and so on. What was the man to do, with
such orders as these? Just what he did! He
ran up-stairs to get a look at the room, before
the sailor was taken into it. He was found
there, making his observations—and he shammed
drunk, as the easiest way of getting out of the
difficulty. That's how I read the riddle.
After he was turned out of the public-house,
he probably went with his report, to the place
where his employers were waiting for him.
And his employers, no doubt, sent him back to
make sure that the sailor was really settled at
the public-house till the next morning. As for
what happened at The Wheel of Fortune, after
the boy left—we ought to have discovered that
last night. It's eleven in the morning, now.
We must hope for the best, and find out what
we can."

In a quarter of an hour more, the cab stopped
in Shore Lane, and Gooseberry opened the
door for us to get out.

"All right?" asked the Sergeant.

"All right," answered the boy.

The moment we entered The Wheel of
Fortune, it was plain even to my inexperienced
eyes that there was something wrong in the
house.

The only person behind the counter at which
the liquors were served, was a bewildered
servant girl, perfectly ignorant of the business.
One or two customers, waiting for their morning
drink, were tapping impatiently on the
counter with their money. The barmaid
appeared from the inner regions of the parlour,
excited and pre-occupied. She answered
Sergeant Cuff's inquiry for the landlord, by telling