of a gadget because presently he must write a memorandum and have it delivered yesterday, which memo would be the cause of the discovery of the ghost of a--He felt the stirring about him as the others made ready to leave. He heard Mannard say irritably:"I don't get this! It's preposterous!""Quite so," said Ghalil, "so we shall have to be very careful. My Moslem ancestors had a saying that the fate of every man was writ upon his forehead. I hope, Mr. Mannard, that your fate is not writ upon the sheepskin page I showed you just now.""But what's it all about?" demanded Mannard. "Who's back of it? What's back of it?"Ghalil sighed, voicing a shrug.       *       *       *       *       *They descended the stairs. The dark, narrow, twisty street outside looked ominous. Ghalil opened the door of the waiting police-car. He said to Mannard, in a sort of humorous abandonment of reason:"Unfortunately, Mr. Coghlan was--or has not yet been--very specific in the memorandum which began this series of events. He said only--" he repeated the last line of Coghlan's handwriting in the sheepskin book--"'Make sure of Mannard. To be killed.'" Mannard said bitterly:"That's specific enough!"He and Laurie and Coghlan got into the back of the car. Lieutenant Ghalil climbed into the front seat, beside the driver. The car's motor roared as it got the car into motion."Your message, when you do write it, Mr. Coghlan," he said over his shoulder as the car moved toward a bend in the winding alleyway, "will be purposefully unclear. It is as if you will know that a clear message would prevent what you will wish to have happened. Thus it appears that you will write that message to bring about exactly what has already happened and will continue to happen up to the moment you write it--"Then he snapped an explosive Turkish word to the driver. The driver jammed on the brakes. The car came to a screaming stop."One moment," said Ghalil politely.He got out of the car. He looked at something in the headlight beams. He touched it very cautiously. He waved the car back, and whistled shrilly. Men came running from the house they had just left. Ghalil spoke crisply, in Turkish. They bent over the object on the cobbles of the lane. The flashlight beams seemed insufficient and they struck matches. Presently Ghalil and a policeman picked up the thing gingerly and moved it with exquisite care to the side of the alley. They put it down against a wall. There Ghalil knelt and examined it again by the light of other matches.He got up and brushed off his hands. He came back to the car, got in. He spoke to the driver in Turkish and the car moved on again, more slowly. At the next curve it barely crawled."What was that?" demanded Mannard.Lieutenant Ghalil hesitated."I fear it was another attempt upon 

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