"Nothing whatever--it's merely a word of advice to one who seems to need
it. Now for the other pockets."

The coat yielded nothing additional; the waist-coat, only a few matches
and an open-faced gold watch, which Harleston inspected rather carefully
both inside and out; the trousers, a couple of handkerchiefs with the
initial C in the corner, some silver, and a small bunch of keys--and in
the fob pocket a crumpled note, with the odour of carnations clinging to
it.

Harleston glanced at Crenshaw as he opened the note--and caught a sly
look in his eyes.

"Something doing, Crenshaw?" he queried.

Another shrug was Crenshaw's answer--and the sly look grew into a sly
smile.

The note, apparently in a woman's handwriting, was in French, and
contained five words and an initial:

_À l'aube du jour.
M._

Harleston looked at it long enough to fix in his mind the penmanship and
to mark the little eccentricities of style. Then he folded it and put it
in Crenshaw's outside pocket.

"Thank you!" said he, with an amused smile.