ned,
the butler would forget his hallucinations. The handkerchief with its
embroidered letter "B," used by Jimmie to inhale the fumes from his
amyl nitrite capsules, was finally traced to its rightful owner--Mrs.
Brewster.

And Mrs. Brewster was due in his office within a very short time. Kent's
square jaw became more pronounced; she should not leave until she had
either confessed her connection with Turnbull's death, or established
her innocence. Surely it would be easy for Mrs. Brewster to do so,
but--aconitine had been prescribed for her; she was familiar with the
poison, she had it at hand, she went to the police court, and kept her
trip a secret, and she had laughed when Jimmie was carried dying from
the court room. But what motive could have inspired her to murder
Jimmie? Was he an old lover--Kent, unable to keep quiet any longer, rose
and paced up and down the office, stopping a moment to glance out of
the window. As he passed the safe he saw the door was ajar. Kent paused
abruptly. Who had opened the safe?

Crossing to the outer office he looked around; no one was there. It
flashed into Kent's mind that he had seen Rochester's light top coat and
walking stick in the coat closet as he hung up his hat on his arrival,
and he again opened the closet door. The coat and stick were still
there; so Rochester had come to the office immediately after leaving
him, and carelessly left the safe open! Kent smiled in spite of his
vexation; the act was typical of his eccentric partner.

Going back to his own office Kent opened the safe and glanced inside.
The pigeon holes and compartments appeared untouched, except the door
of one small compartment on Rochester's side. An envelope was wedged in
such a manner that the small door would not shut and that had prevented
the closing of the outer safe door.

Kent, preparatory to shutting the safe, drew out the envelope intending
to place it in another pigeon-hole where there was more room. As he
turned the envelope over he was thunderstruck to recognize it as the one
which Helen McIntyre had placed in the safe on Wednesday morning. He had
last seen the envelope lying on the table in the smoking porch of the
Club de Vingt, from whence it had mysteriously disappeared, and now it
was back again in Rochester's safe!

Had it ever been missing from the safe? The question forced itself on
Kent as he returned to his chair, envelope in hand, and sat down before
his desk. He had accepted