the owner!"

"And the document?" Bellamy asked. "The document?"

"It is in the hotel safe," Laverick answered.

Bellamy drew a long sigh of relief. Then he emptied his tumbler
and lit a cigarette.

"Laverick," he declared, "I believe you."

"Thank God!" Laverick muttered.

"I am no crime investigator," Bellamy went on thoughtfully. "As to
who killed Von Behrling, or why, I cannot now form the slightest
idea. That twenty thousand pounds, Laverick, is Secret Service
money, paid by me to Von Behrling only half-an-hour before he was
murdered, in a small restaurant there, for what I supposed to be
the document. He deceived me by making up a false packet. The real
one he kept. He deserved to die, and I am glad he is dead."

Laverick's face was suddenly hopeful.

"Then you can take these notes!" he exclaimed.

Bellamy nodded.

"In a few days," he said, "I shall take you with me to a friend of
mine - a Cabinet Minister. You shall tell him the story exactly as
you've told it to me, and restore the money."