pest thought. I had opened
the morning paper and was immersed in a sensational crime which had
occurred in London the night before, when my friend gave an exclamation,
sprang to his feet, and laid his pipe down upon the mantelpiece.

"Yes," said he, "there is no better way of approaching it. The situation
is desperate, but not hopeless. Even now, if we could be sure which of
them has taken it, it is just possible that it has not yet passed out of
his hands. After all, it is a question of money with these fellows, and
I have the British treasury behind me. If it's on the market I'll buy
it--if it means another penny on the income-tax. It is conceivable
that the fellow might hold it back to see what bids come from this
side before he tries his luck on the other. There are only those three
capable of playing so bold a game--there are Oberstein, La Rothiere, and
Eduardo Lucas. I will see each of them."

I glanced at my morning paper.

"Is that Eduardo Lucas of Godolphin Street?"

"Yes."

"You will not see him."

"Why not?"

"He was murdered in his house last night."

My friend has so often astonished me in the course of our adventures
that it was with a sense of exultation that I realized how completely I
had astonished him. He stared in amazement, and then snatched the
paper from my hands. This was the paragraph which I had been engaged in
reading when he rose from his chair.

MURDER IN WESTMINSTER

A crime of mysterious character was committed last night at 16 Godolphin
Street, one of the old-fashioned and secluded rows of eighteenth century
houses which lie between the river and the Abbey, almost in the shadow
of the great Tower of the Houses of Parliament. This small but select
mansion has been inhabited for some years by Mr. Eduardo Lucas, well
known in society circles both on account of his charming personality
and because he has the well-deserved reputation of being one of the
best amateur tenors in the country. Mr. Lucas is an unmarried man,
thirty-four years of age, and his establishment consists of Mrs.
Pringle, an elderly housekeeper, and of Mitton, his valet. The former
retires early and sleeps at the top of the house. The valet was out for
the evening, visiting a friend at Hammersmith. From ten o'clock onward
Mr. Lucas had the house to himself. What occurred during that time has
not yet transpired, but at a quarter to twelve Police-constable Barrett,
passing along Godolphin Street observed that