especially in the matter of the mark on the forehead. But what has it all to do"
"To do with Samuel and his diamonds, you mean? I'll tell you. That dead man is Denson!"
"Denson?" I exclaimed. "Denson? How?"
"I get it from the housekeeper next door. It seems that when the police came to examine the body they found, among other things—money and a watch, and the like—a piece of an addressed envelope, used to hold a few pins—the pins stuck in and the paper rolled up, you know. There was just enough of it to guess the address by—that of the office next door; and it was the only clue they had. So they came along here at once and knocked up the housekeeper. He went with them and instantly recognised Denson, disguised in labourer's clothes, but Denson, he says, unmistakably."
"And the mark on the forehead?"
"That is very odd. It is an outlined triangle, rather less than an inch along each side. It is quite red, he says, and seems to be done in a greasy, sticky sort of ink or colour."
"Was anything found—the diamonds?"
"No. He says there was money—two or three five-pound notes, I believe, some small change, a
