ld of that tobacco-box, for, don't you
see, as long as it was about, a possible clue, there was a danger of
somebody discovering our buried chests of silver and valuables. So my
friend came down again, in his tourist capacity; put up at the same
quarters, strolled about, fished a bit, botanized a bit, attended the
adjourned inquest as a casual spectator, and--abstracted the tobacco-box
under the very noses of the police! It's in that locker now," continued
Baxter, with a laugh, pointing to a corner of the cabin, "and with it are
the handkerchief, your old friend Mr. Cazalette's pocket-book----"

"Oh! your friend got that, too, did he?" I exclaimed. "I see!"

"He abstracted that, too, easily enough, one morning when the old
fellow was bathing," assented Baxter. "Naturally, we weren't going to
take any chances about our hidden goods being brought to light. We're
highly indebted to Mr. Cazalette for making so much fuss about the
tobacco-box, and we're glad there was so much local gossip about it.
Eh?"

I remained silent awhile, reflecting.

"It's a very fortunate thing for both of you that you could, if
necessary, prove your presence at York on the night of the murder," I
remarked at last. "Your doings about the tobacco-box and the other
things might otherwise wear a very suspicious look. As it is, I'm
afraid the police would probably say--granted that they knew what
you've just told us so frankly--that even if you and your French
friend didn't murder Salter Quick and his brother, you were probably
accessory to both murders. That's how it strikes me, anyway."

"I think you're right," he said calmly. "Probably they would. But the
police would be wrong. We were not accessory, either before or since.
We haven't the ghost of a notion as to the identity of the Quicks'
murderers. But since we're discussing that, I'll tell you both of
something that seems to have completely escaped the notice of the
police, the detectives, and of you yourself, Middlebrook. You remember
that in both cases the clothing of the murdered men had been literally
ripped to pieces?"

"Very well," said I. "It had--in Salter's, anyway, to my knowledge."

"And so, they said, it had in Noah's," replied Baxter. "And the
presumption, of course, was that the murderers were searching for
something?"

"Of course," I said. "What other presumption could there be?"

Baxter gave us both a keen, knowing look, bent across the table, and
tapped my arm as if to