, luckily for you, mistook the number. You're in room 43."

"And what became of it? Who sent it?"

"Here is a piece of the envelope which I picked up," replied the
Indian. "You can still make out a seal with Lord Bakefield's arms. So
I went to Battle House."

"And you saw . . . ?"

"Lord Bakefield, his wife and his daughter had left for London this
morning, by motor. But I saw the maid, the one who had been to the
hotel with a letter for you from her mistress. As she was going
upstairs, she was overtaken by a gentleman who said, 'M. Simon Dubosc
is asleep and said I was to let no one in. I'll give him the letter.'
The maid therefore handed him the letter and accepted a tip of a
louis. Here's the louis. It's one with the head of Napoleon I. and the
date 1807 and is therefore precisely similar to the coin which you
picked up near my friend's body."

"And then?" asked Simon, anxiously. "Then this man . . . ?"

"The man, having read the letter, went and knocked at room 44, which
is the next room to yours. Your neighbour opened the door and was
seized by the throat, while the murderer, with his free arm, drove a
dagger into his neck, above the shoulders."

"Do you mean to say that he was stabbed instead of me? . . ."

"Yes, instead of you. But he is not dead. They will pull him through."

Simon was stunned.

"It's dreadful!" he muttered. "Again, that particular way of striking!
. . ."

After a short pause, he asked:

"Do you know nothing of the contents of the letter?"

"From some words exchanged by Lord Bakefield and his daughter the maid
gathered that they were discussing the wreck of the _Queen Mary_, the
steamer on which Miss Bakefield had been shipwrecked the other day and
which must be lying high and dry by now. Miss Bakefield appears to
have lost a miniature."

"Yes," said Simon, thoughtfully, "yes, I dare say. But it is most
distressing that this letter was not placed in my own hands. The maid
ought never to have given it up."

"Why should she have been suspicious?"

"What! Of the first person she met?"

"But she knew him."

"She knew this man?"

"Certainly. She had often seen him at Lord Bakefield's; he is a
frequent visitor to the house."

"Then she was able to give you his name?"

"She told me his name."

"Well?"

"His name's Rolleston."

Simon gave a start.

"Rolleston!" he exclaimed. "But that's impossible! . . . Rolleston!
What madness! . . . What's the fellow like? Give me a