he
man's chair. He did this so slowly and imperceptibly that the operation
occupied the best part of a quarter of an hour. At last the bag was
safely pushed beneath the folds of his overcoat, which he had removed on
sitting down, and now lay thrown carelessly over his knees.

He bent over, noiselessly, his hand beneath the folds of the coat, and
began to fumble with the catch of the satchel. In a few moments he
managed to open it, and with nervous fingers examined the contents of
the bag. Guided by the sense of touch only, he was able to identify
successively a razor case, a shaving brush, a cotton nightshirt and a
number of other articles of an ordinary and usual nature. He had almost
given up the search, when his fingers closed about a small round object,
done up in paper. His heart gave a leap of joy. He could feel the coarse
string with which the package was bound and could tell from its
lightness that it contained probably what he sought. In a moment he had
drawn it noiselessly from the satchel and transferred it to the pocket
of his coat.

The process of closing the bag and returning it to its former position
was accomplished without waking the sleeping occupant of the near-by
chair. Duvall was conscious of a feeling of exultation. He yawned,
stretched himself, glanced with great deliberation at his watch, then
rose and quietly left the room.

The decks seemed deserted. After some trouble he managed, however, to
locate Dufrenne, standing beside the rail in the shadow of one of the
lifeboats. He went up to him and saw that his teeth were chattering with
the cold. Duvall could not repress a feeling of admiration for the
little old Frenchman, who, rather than risk for a moment his
identification by the man they were following, had elected to spend the
night wandering about the decks. His patriotism was proof against even
the cold.

Duvall touched him gently on the arm. "I have secured it," he remarked,
quietly.

Dufrenne turned. "The snuff box?" he whispered excitedly.

The detective nodded, and cautiously drew the circular package from his
pocket. "It was in his satchel," he remarked, as he began to remove the
string.

Dufrenne's lips moved. He seemed to be offering up a silent prayer of
thanks. He was scarcely able to contain his impatience as the detective
slowly unwrapped the parcel, disclosing a small blue pasteboard box, on
the cover of which, in black, appeared the words, "Poudre Perrier." In a
momen