citedly in his hand after reading
it, was written in French; freely translated it ran as follows:

"No. 15, BOULEVARD DE COURCELLES, PARIS.

"My Dear Jack--I was rejoiced to hear from you, after so long a silence,
and it gave me sincere pleasure to look into the matter of which you
spoke. But I fear that my answers must be in the negative. It is certain
that no such individual as M. Felix Marchand lives in or near the Pare
Monceaux, where I have numerous acquaintances; nor do I find the name in
the directory of Paris. Moreover, he is unknown to the dealer, Cambon, on
the Quai Voltaire, of whom I made inquiries. So the matter rests. I am
pleased to learn of your prosperity. When shall I see you once more in
Lutetia?

"With amiable sentiments I inscribe myself,

"Your old friend,

"CHARLES JACQUIN."

"I'll take the earliest opportunity of seeing Lamb and Drummond," Jack
resolved. "The affair will interest them, and it may lead to something.
But I shan't bother about it--I didn't value the picture very highly,
and the thief almost deserves to keep it for his cleverness."

During the next three days, however, Jack was too busy to carry out his
plan--at least in the mornings. Not for any consideration would he have
sacrificed his afternoons, for then he met Madge in Regent's Park, and
spent an hour or more with her, reckless of extortionate cab fares from
Ravenscourt Park to the neighborhood of Portland Terrace. On the second
night, dining in town, he met Victor Nevill, and had a long chat with
him, the two going to a music-hall afterward. Jack was discreetly silent
about his love affair, nor did he or Nevill refer to the little incident
near Richmond Hill.

At the end of the week Jack's opportunity came. He had finished some
work on which he had been employed for several days, and soon after
breakfast, putting on a frock coat and a top hat he went off to town. He
presented a card at Lamb and Drummond's, and the senior partner of the
firm, who knew him well by reputation, invited him into his private
office. On learning his visitor's errand, Mr. Lamb evinced a keen
interest in the subject. He listened attentively to the story, and asked
various questions.

"Here is the letter from my friend in Paris," Jack concluded. "You will
understand its import. It shows conclusively that M. Marchand came to my
studio under a false name, and leaves no room for doubt that it was he
who stole my duplicate Rembrandt."

"I agree