s
the man had given evidence he went out, and was seen hurrying towards
Gunnersbury Station. They believe he's absconded."

I exchanged significant glances with my companion, but neither of us
uttered a word. Ambler gave vent to his habitual grunt of
dissatisfaction, and then led the way upstairs.

The body had been removed from the room in which it had been found,
and the bed was dismantled. When inside the apartment, he turned to me
calmly, saying:

"There seems something in Thorpe's theory regarding that fellow Short,
after all."

"If he has really absconded, it is an admission of guilt," I remarked.

"Most certainly," he replied. "It's a suspicious circumstance, in any
case, that he did not remain until the conclusion of the inquiry."

We pulled the chest of drawers, a beautiful piece of old Sheraton,
away from the door of the safe, and before placing the key in the lock
my companion examined the exterior minutely. The key was partly
rusted, and appeared as though it had not been used for many months.

Could it be that the assassin was in search of that key and had been
unsuccessful?

He showed me the artful manner in which it had been concealed. The
small hardy fern had been rooted up and stuck back again heedlessly
into its pot. Certainly no one would ever have thought to search for a
safe-key there. The dampness of the mould had caused the rust, hence
before we could open the iron door we were compelled to oil the key
with some brilliantine which was discovered on the dead man's dressing
table.

The interior, we found, was a kind of small strong-room--built of
fire-brick, and lined with steel. It was filled with papers of all
kinds neatly arranged.

We drew up a table, and the first packet my friend handed out was a
substantial one of five pound notes, secured by an elastic band,
beneath which was a slip on which the amount was pencilled. Securities
of various sorts followed, and then large packets of parchment deeds
which, on examination, we found related to his Devonshire property and
his farms in Canada.

"Here's something!" cried Ambler at length, tossing across to me a
small packet methodically tied with pink tape. "The old boy's
love-letters--by the look of them."

I undid the loop eagerly, and opened the first letter. It was in a
feminine hand, and proved a curious, almost unintelligible
communication.

I glanced at the signature. My heart ceased its beating, and a sudden
cry involuntari