It was in the second year of my practice as a private detective that young Jose Casteno came to my office in Stanton Street, WC, and entrusted me with that strange and terrible mission in regard to which I have really hesitated, in all sincerity, for some days before I could actually nerve myself to take the public into my confidence. Up to that time, I remember, my big brass plate, with the legend "Mr Hugh Glynn, Secret Investigator," had only succeeded in drawing a very average and ordinary amount of business. True, I had had several profitable cases in which wives wanted to know what happened to their husbands when they didn't come home at the usual hours, and employers were anxious to d…
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