"Cadiz!"
The exclamation came from his hearer.
"Cadiz," repeated T. B. He bent his head forward and rested it for a moment in his hands. When he lifted it, his face was grave.
"It's worth trying," he muttered. "And," he continued aloud, "it will be bringing down two birds with one stone."
"Can I use the instrument again?" he asked.
"Certainly," said the officer readily.
T. B. rose.
"I'm going to Scotland Yard, and I shall not be away for more than ten minutes," he said; and in a few seconds he was crossing Whitehall at a run.
He passed through the entrance and made straight for the big bureau, where day in and day out the silent recorder sat with his pen, his cabinets, and his everlasting dossier.
T. B. knew he would be there, because there was a heavy calendar at the Old Bailey, and the silent man was working far into the night—arranging, sorting, and rearranging.