his wife repays him in the same coin!

"My client went to work at once to regain the cabinet," continued Mr.
Hornblower, plainly relieved that the thinnest ice had been crossed.
"She found that it had been sold to Armand & Son. Hastening to their
offices, she learned that it had been resold by them to Mr. Vantine
and sent forward to him here. So she came over on the first boat,
ostensibly to visit her family, but really to ask Mr. Vantine's
permission to open the drawer and take out the letters. His death
interfered with this, and, in despair, she came to me. I need hardly
add, that no member of her family knows anything about this matter,
and it is especially important that her husband should never even
suspect it. On her behalf, I apply to you, as Mr. Vantine's executor,
to restore these letters to their owner."

I sat for a moment turning this extraordinary story over in my mind,
and trying to make it fit in with the occurrences of the past two
days. But it would not fit--at least, it would not fit with my theory
as to the cause of those occurrences. For, surely, Madame X. would
scarcely guard the secret of that drawer with poison!

"Does any one besides your client know of the existence of these
letters?" I asked, at last.

"I think not," answered Mr. Hornblower, smiling drily. "They are not
of a nature which my client would care to communicate to any one. In
fact, Mr. Lester, as you have doubtless suspected, they are
compromising letters. We must get them back at any cost."

"As a matter of fact," I pointed out, "there are always at least two
people who know of the existence of every letter--the person who
writes it and the person who receives it."

"I had thought of that, but the person who wrote these letters is
dead."

"Dead?" I repeated.

"He was killed in a duel some months ago," explained Mr. Hornblower,
gravely.

"By Monsieur X.?" I asked quickly.

"By Monsieur X.," said Mr. Hornblower, and sat regarding me, his lips
pursed, as an indication, perhaps, that he would say no more.

But there was no necessity that he should. I knew enough of French
law and of French habits of thought to realise that if those letters
ever came into possession of Monsieur X., the game would be entirely
in his hands. His wife would be absolutely at his mercy. And the
thought flashed through my mind that perhaps in some way he had
learned of the existence of the letters, and was trying desperately
to get them. That