"What about putting the stuff back?" questioned Rajah Brahman, opening the portfolio.
"I'll do it to-night," declared Slade. "There's plenty of time to go over it all and get it back there.
"I was worried about cracking the safe," he went on, "but the old crib was easy when I got started. Opened like the door of an ice box. Nothing to it!"
Rajah Brahman was sorting out the things that the portfolio contained. The expression in his eyes resembled that of a man who has discovered a gold mine. Here were letters clippings — everything that he desired.
Tony — as much Imam Singh as ever — arrived at his master's call, bringing paper and pencil. Cross-legged on the floor, Rajah Brahman began to take notes, calling Martin Slade to sit beside him. As the minutes went by, the two men gained a perfect account of the past history of young James Telford, Thomas Telford's son.
Rajah Brahman held a photograph in his hand. He looked at Slade thoughtfully. Then he called Tony.
"Take this downstairs and snap it," he ordered. "Wait a moment, Tony! Here's another!" Referring to his notations, Rajah Brahman selected a small snapshot that showed James Telford standing in front of a Louisiana bungalow. He gave it to Tony also.
"How much do you know about New Orleans?" he inquired of Martin Slade.
"I know it like a book," declared Slade. "Many's the night I've spent along Canal Street — and in the French quarter. I could give you the dimensions of Jackson Square from memory. The old town isn't what it used to be, though — a few years back, when I was there.
"How many years ago?"