"Thank you," I said, but the disappointment was a bitter one.

In the street again, I paused hesitatingly at the curb, my eyes on
the red light of the police station. What was about to happen there?
What was the sensation M. Pigot had up his sleeve? Had I any excuse
for being present?

And then, remembering Grady's nod and his wobbly legs--remembering,
too, that, at the worst, he could only put me out!--I turned toward
the light, pushed open the door and entered.

There was no one in sight except the sergeant at the desk.

"My name is Lester," I said. "You have a cabinet here belonging to
the estate of the late Philip Vantine."

"We've got a cabinet, all right; but I don't know who it belongs to."

"It belongs to Mr. Vantine's estate."

"Well, what about it?" he asked, looking at me to see if I was drunk.
"You haven't come in here at midnight to tell me that, I hope?"

"No; but I'd like to see the cabinet a minute."

"You can't see it to-night. Come around to-morrow. Besides, I don't
know you."

"Here's my card. Either Mr. Simmonds or Mr. Grady would know me. And