here was no poisoned mechanism guarding it."

He breathed deeply for an instant; then he pulled himself together
with a little laugh.

"Really," he said, "I must not indulge myself in this way. It is a
kind of intoxication. But you say that the drawer was found and that
there was no poison? Was the drawer empty?"

"No, there was a packet of letters in it."

"Delicious! Love letters, of a certainty! _Billets-doux_ from the
great Louis to the Montespan, perhaps?"

"No, unfortunately they were of a much more recent date. They have
been restored to their owner. I hope that you agree with me that that
was the right thing to do?"

He sat for a moment regarding me narrowly, and I had an uneasy
feeling that, since he undoubtedly knew of whom the cabinet had been
purchased, he was reconstructing the story more completely than I
would have wished him to do.

"Since the letters have been returned," he said, at last, a little
drily, "it is useless to discuss the matter. But no doubt I should
approve if all the circumstances were known to me. Especially if it
was to assist a lady."

"It was," I said, and I saw from his face that he understood.

"Then you did well," he said. "Has no other explanation been found
for the death of Mr. Vantine and of this stranger?"

"I think not. The coroner will hold his inquest to-morrow. He has
deferred it in the hope that some new evidence would be discovered."

"And none has been discovered?"

"I have heard of none."

"You do not even know who this stranger was?"

"Oh, yes, we have discovered that. He was a worthless fellow named
Drouet."

"A Frenchman?"

"Yes, living in an attic in the Rue de la Huchette, at Paris."

M. Armand had been gazing at me intently, but now his look relaxed,
and I fancied that he drew a deep breath as a man might do when
relieved of a burden. At the back of my brain a vague and shadowy
suspicion began to form--a suspicion that perhaps M. Armand knew more
of this affair than he had as yet acknowledged.

"You did not, by any chance, know him?" I asked carelessly.

"No, I think not. But there is one thing I do not understand, Mr.
Lester, and you will pardon me if I am indiscreet. But I do not
understand what this Drouet, as you call him, was doing in the house
of Mr. Vantine."

"He was trying to get possession of the letters," I said.

"Oh, so it was that!" and my companion nodded. "And in trying to get
those letters, he was killed?"

"Yes, but