the left hand one, a linen handkerchief of good quality, but unmarked,
and a soiled leather pocket-book, containing seven francs and sixty
centimes.

There appeared to be nothing more, and the commissary was expressing
his regret, when, on carefully examining the pocket-book he found a
compartment which had at first escaped his notice, being hidden by a
leather flap. This compartment contained a carefully folded paper. The
commissary unfolded it and read the contents aloud:


"My dear Gustave,--To-morrow, Sunday evening, do not fail to come to the
ball at the Rainbow, according to our agreement. If you have no money
pass by my house, and I will leave some with the concierge, who will
give it to you.

"Be at the ball by eight o'clock. If I am not already there, it will
not be long before I make my appearance. Everything is going on
satisfactorily.

"Lacheneur."


Alas! what did this letter reveal? Only that the dead man's name was
Gustave; that he had some connection with a man named Lacheneur, who had
advanced him money for a certain object; and that they had met at the
Rainbow some hours before the murder.

It was little--very little--but still it was something. It was a clue;
and in this absolute darkness even the faintest gleam of light was