his possession. Finally he determined to keep silence for the moment, and
he handed back the message with an assumption of indifference.

"I should think a thing of that sort will soon be found," he observed.
"Look here--never mind about sending that chambermaid to me just now;
I'll see her later. I'm going to breakfast."

He wondered as he sat in the coffee-room, eating and drinking, if any of
the folk about him knew anything about the dead man whose body had been
quietly taken away by the doctors while the hotel routine went on in its
usual fashion. It seemed odd, strange, almost weird, to think that any
one of these people, eating fish or chops, chatting, reading their
propped-up newspapers, might be in possession of some knowledge which he
would give a good deal to appropriate.

Of one fact, however, he was certain--that diamond buckle belonged to
Miss Celia Lennard, and she lived at an address in London which he had by
that time written down in his pocket-book. And now arose the big (and, in
view of what had happened, the most important and serious) question--how
had Miss Celia Lennard's diamond buckle come to be in Room Number 263?
That question had got to be answered, and he foresaw that he and Miss
Lennard must very quickly meet again.

But there were many matters to be dealt with first, and they began to
arise and to demand attention at once. Before he had finished breakfast
came a wire from Mr. Franklin Fullaway, answering his own:--

"Deeply grieved and astonished by your news. Am coming down at once, and
shall arrive Hull two o'clock. In meantime keep strict guard on your
cousin's effects, especially on any sealed package. Most important this