morning. The envelope was of official blue paper and we had no
difficulty in finding the two other parts of it. We drew the torn
pieces of the letter from them and joined them together side by side.
There were but two lines of writing, and this was the message: 'I
leave Petersburg on the night train, and I shall see you at Trevor
Terrace after dinner Monday evening.'

"'That was last night!' Lyle cried. 'He arrived twelve hours ahead of
his letter--but it came in time--it came in time to hang him!'"

The Baronet struck the table with his hand.

"The name!" he demanded. "How was it signed? What was the man's name!"

The young Solicitor rose to his feet and, leaning forward, stretched
out his arm. "There was no name," he cried. "The letter was signed
with only two initials. But engraved at the top of the sheet was the
man's address. That address was 'THE AMERICAN EMBASSY, ST. PETERSBURG,
BUREAU or THE NAVAL ATTACHE,' and the initials," he shouted, his voice
rising into an exultant and bitter cry, "were those of the gentleman
who sits opposite who told us that he was the first to find the
murdered bodies, the Naval Attache to Russia, Lieutenant Sears!"

A strained and awful hush followed the Solicitor's words, which seemed
to vibrate like a twanging bowstring that had just hurled its bolt.
Sir Andrew, pale and staring, drew away with an exclamation of
repulsion. His eyes were fastened upon the Naval Attache with
fascinated horror. But the American emitted a sigh of great content,
and sank comfortably into the arms of his chair. He clapped his hands
softly together.