whom, in
response to a gesture, Brett had passed the damning document.

"Then this letter simplifies matters considerably," said Brett.

Miss Talbot looked at him unflinchingly as she uttered the next
question:

"Do you mean that it serves to clear my brother from any suspicion?"

"Most certainly."

"I thank you for your words from the bottom of my heart. Somehow, I knew
you would say that. Will you please come and help to explain matters to
my uncle? Harry, you will come too, will you not?"

The sweet gentle voice, with its sad mingling of hope and despair,
sounded so pathetic that the impetuous peer had some difficulty in
restraining a wild impulse to clasp her to his heart then and there.

Even Mr. Winter was moved not to proclaim his disbelief.

"I will see you in the morning, sir," he muttered.

Brett nodded, and the detective went out, saying to himself as he
reached the street--

"Nerve! Of course he has nerve. It's in the family. Just look at that
girl! Still, it did require some grit to sign his name in the hotel
register and then calmly sit down to write a letter telling his people
not to worry about him. I've known a few rum cases in my time, but this
one----"

The remainder of Mr. Winter's soliloquy was lost in the spasmodic
excitement of boarding a passing omnibus, for this latest item of news
must be conveyed to the Yard with all speed.

CHAPTER VI

A JOURNEY TO PARIS

The sight of Talbot's letter seemed to fire Brett's imagination. He
radiated electric energy. Both Lord Fairholme and Miss Talbot felt that
in his presence all doubts vanished. They realized, without knowing why,
that this man of power, this human dynamo, would quickly dispel the
clouds which now rendered the outlook so forbidding. For the moment,
heedless of their presence, he began to pace the room in the strenuous
concentration of his thoughts. Once he halted in front of the small bust
of Edgar Allan Poe, whose pedestal still imprisoned the two cuttings of
a newspaper which formed the barrister's first links with the tragedy.
His ideas suddenly reverted to the paragraph describing the efforts of
the Porte to obtain from the French Government the extradition of a
fugitive relative of the Sultan. At that instant, too, a tiny clock on
the mantelpiece chimed forth the hour of eight.

"That settles it," said Brett aloud. "Smith," he vociferated.

And Smith appeared.

"Pack up sufficient belongings for a short tri