duced it. "This envelope," he said, "was left with me
by the man with short stiff hair, who came just before you, and who
announced himself as Sir Charles Vandrift. He said he was interested
in tea in Assam, and wanted me to join the board of directors of
some bogus company. These are his papers, I believe," and he handed
them to his cousin.

"Well, I'm glad the notes are safe, anyhow," Charles murmured, in a
tone of relief, beginning to smell a rat. "Will you kindly return
them to me?"

The attache turned out the contents of the envelope. They proved to
be prospectuses of bubble companies of the moment, of no importance.

"Medhurst must have put them there," I cried, "and decamped with the
cash."

Charles gave a groan of horror. "And Medhurst is Colonel Clay!" he
exclaimed, clapping his hand to his forehead.

"I beg your pardon, sir," the Colonel interposed. "I have but one
personality, and no aliases."

It took quite half an hour to explain this imbroglio. But as soon as
all was explained, in French and English, to the satisfaction of
ourselves and the juge d'instruction, the real Colonel shook hands
with us in a most forgiving way, and informed us that he had more
than once wondered, when he gave his name at shops in Paris, why
it was often received with such grave suspicion. We instructed
the police that the true culprit was Medhurst, whom they had seen
with their own eyes, and whom we urged them to pursue with all
expedition. Meanwhile, Charles and I, accompanied by the Colonel
and the attache--"to see the fun out," as they said--called at the
Bank of France for the purpose of stopping the notes immediately. It
was too late, however. They had been presented at once, and cashed
in gold, by a pleasant little lady in an American costume, who was
afterwards identified by the hotel-keeper (from our description) as
his lodger, Mme. Picardet. It was clear she had taken rooms in the
same hotel, to be near the Indian Colonel; and it was _she_ who had
received and sent the letters. As for our foe, he had vanished into
space, as always.

Two days later we received the usual insulting communication on a
sheet of Charles's own dainty note. Last time he wrote it was on
Craig-Ellachie paper: this time, like the wanton lapwing, he had got
himself another crest.

"MOST PERSPICACIOUS OF MILLIONAIRES!--Said I not well, as
Medhurst, that you must distrust everybody? And the one man
you never dreamt of distrusting was--Me