would believe him. The thing was altogether too wild and improbable for
that. And yet, he reflected, things almost as impossible happen in
Brighton every day. And what proof had he to offer?

Well, there was one thing certain. At least three-quarters of those
bank-notes--the portion he had collected at the house with the crimson
blind--could not possibly be traced to the injured man. And, again, it
was no fault of Steel's that Marley had obtained possession of the
numbers of the notes. If the detective chose to ferret out facts for
himself no blame could attach to Steel. If those people had only chosen
to leave out of the question that confounded cigar-case!

David's train of thought was broken as an idea came to him. It was not so
long since he had a facsimile cigar-case in his hand at Lockhart's, in
North Street. Somebody connected with the mystery must have seen him
admiring it and reluctantly declining the purchase, because the voice
from the telephone told him that the case was a present and that it had
come from the famous North Street establishment.

"By Jove!" David cried. "I'll go to Lockhart's tomorrow and see if the
case is still there. If so, I may be able to trace it."

Fairly early the next morning David was in North Street. For the time
being he had put his work aside altogether. He could not have written a
dozen consecutive lines to save the situation. The mere effort to
preserve a cheerful face before his mother was a torture. And at any time
he might find himself forced to meet a criminal charge.

The gentlemanly assistant at Lockhart's remembered Steel and the
cigar-case perfectly well, but he was afraid that the article had been