e is not locked," said he. In
fact it opened easily. The detective took the light and bent over to
examine it.

Franco had seated himself on the sofa, his eyes fixed on the rafters of
the ceiling. When his wife saw the drawer pulled open she sank down
beside him, took his hand, and pressed it spasmodically.

She heard some papers rustle, and the Receiver murmured, in a benign
voice: "Drawings." Then the detective exclaimed: "Ah!" and the
satellites all leaned forward to see. She had the strength to rise and
inquire; "What is it?" The detective was holding a long pasteboard case,
curved and slim, and bearing a label with an inscription. He had already
read the inscription to himself; he now read it aloud with an accent of
ineffable sarcasm and satisfaction. "The sabre of Lieutenant Pietro
Ribera, killed at Malojaroslavetz in 1812." Franco started to his feet,
astounded and incredulous, and at the same moment the adjunct opened the
case. From where he stood Franco could not see it, and he glanced at his
wife, who could. Her lips were white and he thought it was with fright,
although this did not seem possible.

But her lips were white with joy, for the case contained only an empty
scabbard. Luisa suddenly drew back into the shadow and sank upon the
sofa, struggling with a violent inward trembling, vexed with herself and
ashamed of her weakness, which however, she soon conquered. Meanwhile
the detective, who had removed the scabbard and examined it on all
sides, asked Franco where the sabre was. Franco was about to answer that
he did not know, which was perfectly true, but reflecting that this
might seem like self-justification, he said--

"In Russia."

The sabre was not in Russia, but fast in the mud, at the bottom of the
lake, where Uncle Piero had secretly flung it rather than give it up.

"But why did they write sabre?" inquired the Receiver, wishing to show
he also was zealous.

"The writer is dead," said Franco.

"Hand over that key at once!" the detective scolded angrily. And this
time Luisa found it, and the two other drawers were opened. One was
empty, the other contained some blankets and a little lavender.

The search ended here. The adjunct went down to the drawing-room, and
ordered Franco to make ready to follow him in fifteen minutes. "You had
better arrest all of us then!" Luisa exclaimed.

The man shrugged his shoulders, and repeated to Franco: "In fifteen
minutes. You may go to your room, now,