ue, and induce me
to forge a death certificate in the name of a doctor whose surname was
the same as my own.

The fact that he had actually provided himself with a genuine sheet of
the doctor's notepaper, and that--as I now learnt for the first
time--Moroni was actually in the house when the drug was given to
Gabrielle and myself prior to the death of the chief victim, showed
the utter callousness of the crime. Indeed, Gabrielle Engledue was
actually witness of my beloved's mysterious seizure, little dreaming
that in a short hour she herself would fall victim to the cupidity of
that relentless poisoner who, by his crimes, hoped to amass one of the
most colossal fortunes in the world.

I sat with Gabrielle discussing the amazing affair until darkness
slowly fell. I told her of my own astounding adventures, and my narrow
escape from death in Madrid, to all of which she listened with
breathless interest.

Then, rising, I took her hand again, and with whispered words I
pressed my lips to hers for the first time in a long but sacred
caress.

She sighed. I felt her quiver as I pressed her to me, and then to my
delight I felt her sweet warm lips cling at last affectionately to
mine.

CHAPTER THE TWENTY-NINTH

ANOTHER PLOT

Among my letters on the following morning was a small packet which I
opened. Within was a tablet of dark-brown toilet-soap bearing the name
of a well-known firm of manufacturers. With it was a typewritten
letter upon dark-blue commercial paper with a printed heading. I was
addressed as "H. Granfield, Esq.," and the letter proved to be a
polite intimation that as the firm in question was putting on to the
market a new brand of toilet-soap, they begged me to accept with their
compliments the enclosed sample. I was also informed that, if I liked
it, I could purchase it of their agents, a certain firm of chemists in
King Street, Hammersmith.

"Looks rather decent soap!" remarked Harry as I passed it to him, and
then I re-wrapped it in its paper and placed it aside.

At eleven o'clock I sat with Rivero, Gabrielle and Harry Hambledon in
the dull reception-room at Scotland Yard, that same room wherein I had
given information concerning the whereabouts of Mateo Sanz.

The Superintendent who received us was a well-dressed courtly man,
rather stout and elderly, who became intensely interested when I
related the whole story, much as I have set it down in the foregoing
pages.

The consultation w