which he had discovered, on the pad in front of him.

There was not much to be made of it. There was no address, but the
black seal at the end bore the impression of a foreign coat of arms,
and a motto which to him was indecipherable. He held it up to the
light, but the outside sheet had not been written on, and he gained
no idea as to its contents. He leaned back in his chair for a
moment, and looked at it. So this was the document which would
probably reveal the secret of the murder in Crooked Friars' Alley!
This was the document which Mademoiselle Idiale considered of so
much more importance than the fortune represented by that packet of
bank-notes! What did it all mean? Was this man, who had either
expiated a crime or been the victim of a terrible vengeance, - was
he a politician, a dealer in trade secrets, a member of a secret
society, an informer? Or was he one of the underground criminals
of the world, one of those who crawl beneath the surface of known
things - a creature of the dark places? Perhaps during those few
minutes, when his brain was cool and active, with the great city
awakening all around him, Laverick realized more completely than
ever before exactly how he stood. Without doubt he was walking on
the brink of a precipice. Four days ago there had been nothing for
him but ruin. The means of salvation had suddenly presented
themselves in this startling and dramatic manner, and without
hesitation he had embraced them. What did it all amount to? How
far was he guilty, and of what? Was he a thief? The law would
probably call him so. The law might have even more to say. It
would say that by keeping his mouth closed as to his adventure on
that night he had ranged himself on the side of the criminals, - he
was guilty not only of technical theft, but of a criminal knowledge
of this terrible crime. Events had followed upon one another so