Allingham did so. Just on the edge of the lining there was an oblong-shaped tab, with small gold lettering:—
W. CLARKSON. Wig-maker to the Seventh International.
"Well, well, it's what I said," the doctor went on, swallowing quickly, "someone has—someone has—"
He broke off abruptly. Gregg was standing with his hands behind him. He shook his head gravely.
"It's no use, doc," he observed, quietly, "we've got to face it."
ARTHUR WITHERS THINKS THINGS OUT
I