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the letter and envelope to Mapperley, who was holding out a hand.

ā€œWell,ā€ he said. ā€œI wish yeā€™d just let me have a look into Madameā€™s flat. Thereā€™s something seriously wrong, andā ā€”ā€

ā€œOh, you can do thatā ā€”ā€˜long as Iā€™m with you,ā€ said the caretaker readily. He rose and led the way to the left, and presently ushered them into a smart flat and turned on the electric light. ā€œDonā€™t see nothing wrong here,ā€ he observed. ā€œThe chap wasnā€™t here ten minutes, and he carried nothing heavy away, whatever he had in his pockets.ā€

Hetherwick and Mapperley looked round. Everything seemed correct and in orderā ā€”the surroundings were those of a refined and artistic woman, obviously one who loved order and system. But on a desk that stood in the centre of the sitting-room a drawer had been pulled open, and in front of it lay scattered a few sheets of Madame Listorelleā€™s private notepaper, with her engraved address and crest. Near by lay some envelopes, similarly marked. And with a sudden idea in his mind, Hetherwick picked up a sheet or two of the paper and a couple of envelopes and put them in his pocket.

A few minutes later, once more in the cab which they had kept waiting, and on the way to Hill Street, whither Hetherwick had bidden the driver go next, Mapperley turned to his employer with a sly laugh, and held up something in the light of a street lamp by which they were passing.

ā€œWhatā€™s that?ā€ asked Hetherwick.

ā€œThe order written by Madame Listorelle,ā€ answered Mapperley, chuckling. ā€œThe caretaker didnā€™t notice that I carried it off, envelope and all, under his very eyes! But I didā ā€”and here it is!ā€

ā€œWhat do you want to do with it?ā€ demanded Hetherwick. ā€œWhatā€™s your notion?ā€

But Mapperley only chuckled again and without giving any answer restored the azure-tinted envelope and its contents to his pocket.

XXII The Highly-Respectable Solicitor

Lord Morradale, who kept up honest, country-squire habits even in London, had gone to bed when Hetherwick and Mapperley arrived at his house, but he lost little time in making an appearance, in pyjamas and dressing-gown, and listened eagerly to Hetherwickā€™s account of the recent transactions.

ā€œForce!ā€ he muttered, nodding his head at each point of the story. ā€œForce! got it out of her by force. That is, if the orderā€™s genuine.ā€

Mapperley produced the sheet of paper, which he had filched under the caretakerā€™s eyes, and silently handed it over.

ā€œOh, thatā€™s Madame Listorelleā€™s handwriting!ā€ exclaimed Lord Morradale. ā€œHers, without doubt. Difficult to imitate, of course. Oh, yesā ā€”hers! Well, that proves what Iā€™ve just said, Mr. Hetherwickā ā€”force! Sheā€™s in their powerā ā€”with the young lady, Missā ā€”Missā ā€”Featherstone, to be sureā ā€”and theyā€™ve made her write that. Next, theyā€™ll make her write an order on the Imperial Safe Deposit. We must be beforehand with them there. Earlyā ā€”early as possible in the morning. Meet me at Matherfieldā€™sā ā€”I think heā€™s pretty keen. Bless me! what a pack of villains! Now I wonder where, in all London, these unfortunate ladies are?ā€

ā€œThatā€™s precisely what all this ought to help us to find out,ā€ remarked Hetherwick. ā€œIā€™m not so much concerned about the valuables these men are after as about the safety ofā ā€”ā€

Lord Morradale gave him a quick, understanding glance.

ā€œOf Miss Featherstone, eh?ā€ he said. ā€œI seeā ā€”I see! And Iā€™m concerned, too, about Madame Listorelle. Well, this, as you say, ought to help. But look hereā ā€”we must be cautiousā ā€”very cautious! We mustnā€™t let Matherfieldā ā€”you know what the police areā ā€”we mustnā€™t let him be too precipitate. Probablyā ā€”if a man comes to the safe place, heā€™ll go away from it to where these scoundrels are. We must followā ā€”follow!ā€

ā€œI agree,ā€ said Hetherwick.

ā€œNine oā€™clock, then, at Matherfieldā€™s,ā€ concluded his lordship. ā€œAnd may we have a strong scent, a rousing one, and a successful kill!ā€

With this bit of sporting phraseology in their ears, Hetherwick and Mapperley returned to the Middle Temple and retired for the rest of the night, one to bed, the other to a shakedown on the sitting-room sofa. But when Hetherwickā€™s alarm clock awoke him at seven-thirty and he put his head into the next room to rouse the clerk, he found that Mapperley had vanished. The cushions, rugs, and blankets with which he had made himself comfortable for the night were all neatly folded and arrangedā ā€”on the topmost was pinned a sheet of brief-paper, with a message scrawled in blue pencil.

You wonā€™t want me this morning; off on an important notion of my own. Look out for message from me about noon.

M.

Muttering to himself that he hadnā€™t the least idea as to what his clerk was about, Hetherwick made a hurried toilet, and an equally hurried breakfast, and hastened away to meet Matherfield and Lord Morradale. He found these two together, and with them a quiet, solemn-faced individual, clad in unusually sombre garments, whom Matherfield introduced as Detective-Sergeant Quigman. Matherfield went straight to business.

ā€œHis lordshipā€™s just told me of your adventure last night, Mr. Hetherwick,ā€ he said, ā€œand Iā€™m beginning to get a sort of forecast of whatā€™s likely to happen. It was, of course, Baseverie who went to madameā€™s flat last nightā ā€”thatā€™s settled. But what do you suppose he went for?ā€

ā€œCanā€™t say that Iā€™ve worked that out,ā€ answered Hetherwick, with a glance at the others. ā€œBut I imagine that he went there to get, say, certain keysā ā€”having forced Madame Listorelle to tell him where they were. The keys of her safe at the Deposit place, I should think.ā€

ā€œNo!ā€ replied Matherfield, shaking his head knowingly, and with a sly smile at Quigman. ā€œNo, not that. Iā€™ll tell you what he went forā ā€”a very simple thing. He went to get some of Madameā€™s private notepaper! He knew well enough that if he was to take an order on that Safe Deposit to allow the bearer access to Madameā€™s safe it would have to be what the French, I believe, call en rĆ©gleā ā€”eh? Written on her own notepaper in her own handwriting, and so on. See?ā€

ā€œI think youā€™re right, and I think he got

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