"Do you think his assailant had any knowledge of anatomy?" asked Grant. It was almost incredible that so small a hole had let a man's life out.

"It wasn't done with the precision of a surgeon, if that's what you mean. As for a knowledge of anatomy, practically every one who is old enough to have lived through the war has a working knowledge of anatomy. It may have been just a lucky shot — and I rather think it was."

Grant thanked him and came to business with the Gow Street officials. On the table were laid out the scanty contents of the man's pockets. Grant was conscious of a faint dismay when he saw their fewness. A white cotton handkerchief, a small pile of loose change (two half-crowns, two sixpences, a shilling, four pennies, and a halfpenny), and — unexpected — a service revolver. The handkerchief was well worn but had no laundry mark or initial. The revolver was fully loaded.

Grant examined them in a disgusted silence. "Laundry marks on his clothes?" he asked.

No, there were no marks of any kind.

And no one had come to claim him? Not even any one to make inquiries?

No, no one but that old madwoman who laid claim to every one the police found.

Well, he would see the clothes for himself. Painstakingly he examined each article of clothing. Both hat and shoes were well worn, the shoes so much so that the maker's name, which should have been on the lining, had been obliterated. The hat when new had been bought from a firm who owned shops all over London and the provinces. Both were good of their kind, and though well worn neither was shabby. The blue suit was fashionable if rather too pronounced in cut, and the same might be said of the grey overcoat.